Strasburg on the tele
He's three starts in and approaching the fourth, so Strasburg has been well covered, especially in this area. Speaking with the authority of someone who has lived here for this Nationals section of history, Strasburg, rookie starting pitcher, is a bigger story than baseball coming to town. My gauge of his impact: I have heard conversations about him on the streets and in the lunch lines. People in this town don't usually talk about baseball. They talk football. Sometimes they'll talk basketball. They might talk hockey for the short time the Capitals are in the playsoffs, but they don't talk baseball. The baseball park is just another joint that serves overpriced drinks. Strasburg has changed that. His name seems to appear in almost every newspaper chat. I bet he was in the advice columnist's wedding chat. The poster probably wanted Strasburg to be a bridesmaid. Another indication of his impact: My household has watched portions of two of his three starts. I think I last intentionally watched baseball on TV when I lived in Ohio. I can tell, everybody can tell, that he's special. He had fourteen strikeouts in his first outing. He was cool. The crowd was nuts. They were cheering every pitch. Most games half the crowd is in danger of being whacked in the skull with a foul ball. Now, they're awake. They expect to win. This town expects them to win. I'm amazed that one player can do that, but it's been neat to witness, if not directly yet, then in the outer rings of Strasburg's splashdown.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
Reflections on water gun warfare
The route my dad's bike buddies take is almost a complete tour of my childhood. There's the first school I attended. There is the path where I wanted to see what frost bite felt like if my alibi holds or where I scared myself into thinking the neighbors house was haunted. There's the park with the penguin. The slide that smelled like urine is sealed off, but somehow the urine smell remains, at least in my nasal cavity. There's the tumbleweed blowing by the joint where Showbiz pizza once rocked the birthday circuit and now only Sears and the softer side of empty live. There's where John resided with his Raleigh dirt bike long before he became Johnny. It had been a year and a half since I'd been to KC. The old sites still conjured up memories and the cleaning adventure down memory lane added to the misty water colors, but more than ever KC no longer felt much like my town. It wasn't entirely clear when I had the pleasure of the company of some good college friends who I see far too often on Facebook and not nearly enough in real life. Nor was it obvious as I ran the old high school training runs with my sister and then again on my own.
My long absence was clearest to me while on the road. It took my mental map longer than the GPS to figure out where I was headed. I struggled to recall the names of roads I once traveled often. Were there always this many trucks here? Most disconnecting of all was my re-entry into the greater metropolitan area after a visit to rural MO. As the outlines of familiarity, the places that would have once signaled the approach of home and the satisfying finish of a trip, started to appear on the horizon, my mind whirred and clicked. It searched to connect home and formerly familiar sites. Instead of connecting to KC, I flashed to Maryland and Virginia. I thought of the return trips from many Ultimate tournaments and a few driving vacations in the east. The satisfying finish couldn't slide into place. Instead, I allowed the GPS to take me on in to a place that was once so clearly defined as home.
We'd gone canoeing. It's a more patient past time than I've allowed myself time for lately. The trip was with the canoe club I grew up with. Some of the long time members that I remember as a kid have passed on, but a few remain. I was surprised to find out that one would be celebrating eighty this year. He couldn't have aged all these years while I did. I'm sure he thought the same of me. That wasn't the only time warp. With my sister on the trip, a few moments felt like they did so long ago. Having Bruce there made me look around fully expecting to see the others from our age group- Molly, Emily, Sarah. They weren't there, though their families were. Their parents spoke of grandkids, my friends' kids. Weren't we still ten or no more than fifteen? My own young niece was on her first canoe trip, while her little sister had her first camping experience. I'd brought C and finally introduced her to Spam after five years of promises. So they and my cousin and her boyfriend in the Navy reminded me that, no, we weren't still ten, and yet when the water guns came out, maybe we weren't so far from then.
The water guns have changed. The pace of war has changed. When I was a boy, I say while I stroke my beard, using a water gun on a canoe trip was more about stealth. It took a sneak attack with a hand held gun to cause a rain-drop like disturbance. It was moist annoyance and the danger of a vicious counter-attack paddle splash was always a very real concern. The evolution is clear as super soakers replaced handhelds adding volume and distance, and now in this day and age, which probably arrived seven or so years ago, the water cannon emerges as the weapon of choice. The water cannon takes two hands to fire. It takes a big drink to load and a big push to spray. The stream is hose-like. The shooting distance is sizable, too far for most paddle retaliation. The catch is that the reloading time is obscene. It's one long shot and done. I imagine that a good army of canoeists must have the discipline of the Brits in the eighteenth century. Build the line, fire the musket, and then take on the opponents fire during reloading. The only hope is a second wave of cover. We did not have that discipline. Water gun warfare has taken a giant step back in speed to acquire more power. It's mutually assured wetness.
The route my dad's bike buddies take is almost a complete tour of my childhood. There's the first school I attended. There is the path where I wanted to see what frost bite felt like if my alibi holds or where I scared myself into thinking the neighbors house was haunted. There's the park with the penguin. The slide that smelled like urine is sealed off, but somehow the urine smell remains, at least in my nasal cavity. There's the tumbleweed blowing by the joint where Showbiz pizza once rocked the birthday circuit and now only Sears and the softer side of empty live. There's where John resided with his Raleigh dirt bike long before he became Johnny. It had been a year and a half since I'd been to KC. The old sites still conjured up memories and the cleaning adventure down memory lane added to the misty water colors, but more than ever KC no longer felt much like my town. It wasn't entirely clear when I had the pleasure of the company of some good college friends who I see far too often on Facebook and not nearly enough in real life. Nor was it obvious as I ran the old high school training runs with my sister and then again on my own.
My long absence was clearest to me while on the road. It took my mental map longer than the GPS to figure out where I was headed. I struggled to recall the names of roads I once traveled often. Were there always this many trucks here? Most disconnecting of all was my re-entry into the greater metropolitan area after a visit to rural MO. As the outlines of familiarity, the places that would have once signaled the approach of home and the satisfying finish of a trip, started to appear on the horizon, my mind whirred and clicked. It searched to connect home and formerly familiar sites. Instead of connecting to KC, I flashed to Maryland and Virginia. I thought of the return trips from many Ultimate tournaments and a few driving vacations in the east. The satisfying finish couldn't slide into place. Instead, I allowed the GPS to take me on in to a place that was once so clearly defined as home.
We'd gone canoeing. It's a more patient past time than I've allowed myself time for lately. The trip was with the canoe club I grew up with. Some of the long time members that I remember as a kid have passed on, but a few remain. I was surprised to find out that one would be celebrating eighty this year. He couldn't have aged all these years while I did. I'm sure he thought the same of me. That wasn't the only time warp. With my sister on the trip, a few moments felt like they did so long ago. Having Bruce there made me look around fully expecting to see the others from our age group- Molly, Emily, Sarah. They weren't there, though their families were. Their parents spoke of grandkids, my friends' kids. Weren't we still ten or no more than fifteen? My own young niece was on her first canoe trip, while her little sister had her first camping experience. I'd brought C and finally introduced her to Spam after five years of promises. So they and my cousin and her boyfriend in the Navy reminded me that, no, we weren't still ten, and yet when the water guns came out, maybe we weren't so far from then.
The water guns have changed. The pace of war has changed. When I was a boy, I say while I stroke my beard, using a water gun on a canoe trip was more about stealth. It took a sneak attack with a hand held gun to cause a rain-drop like disturbance. It was moist annoyance and the danger of a vicious counter-attack paddle splash was always a very real concern. The evolution is clear as super soakers replaced handhelds adding volume and distance, and now in this day and age, which probably arrived seven or so years ago, the water cannon emerges as the weapon of choice. The water cannon takes two hands to fire. It takes a big drink to load and a big push to spray. The stream is hose-like. The shooting distance is sizable, too far for most paddle retaliation. The catch is that the reloading time is obscene. It's one long shot and done. I imagine that a good army of canoeists must have the discipline of the Brits in the eighteenth century. Build the line, fire the musket, and then take on the opponents fire during reloading. The only hope is a second wave of cover. We did not have that discipline. Water gun warfare has taken a giant step back in speed to acquire more power. It's mutually assured wetness.
Monday, May 31, 2010
There's bubble in your eye, sucka
Nostalgiaville, USA- In the process of cleaning out my folks' basement, I have discovered many interesting items. I'm a little dismayed by my attitude toward the baseball cards for instance. I have a box full of them. Most are housed in plastic sleeves and organized by team. I'm no longer interested in them, but clearly I spent a big chunk of 1988-1990 buying, trading, and organizing them. It seems callous to toss them. Initially I pulled out the Royals and the Cardinals cards, along with a few pitchers that I followed- Dwight Gooden, Oral Hershesier, Roger Clemens, but then I realized that I didn't really want to keep those collections either. It's time to part ways with a box full of cards. I'm struggling with the trashing (whatever form it may take) of something that at one time was so valuable in time and money. It's hitting me a little hard.
The next item to hit me hard is one that I've been searching for. Earlier this month, I ran a brisk 10k in 36:58. I was pretty proud of it. Since I've only run a few 10k races in my life I figured this one had to be approaching my PR, or personal record. I asked my parents to take a look to see if they could locate results from the only 10k race I remembered from high school. They had no luck finding the results. I asked a friend if he had the results and he figured he lost the results in a move. I was starting to think that I should just call it. Maybe I ran 36:30 in high school. I could go after 36:30.
Welllll, it looks like I didn't give high school me enough credit. I found the results. In '95, I ran 35:40. In '97, I ran 34:43. I need to shave about 22 seconds PER mile off of my time. Um. I'm afraid that means that I have a lot more lifting and running to do. I really thought the 10k time was the most reachable. The course is very flat and of my events, that one probably comes closest.
For comparison sake, let's look at some figures. Most recent mile: 4.41. Best: 4.18. Difference of 23 seconds, over 1 mile. Most recent 5k: 17.11. Best: 15:46. Difference of 1 minute 25 seconds over 3.1 miles or 27 seconds per mile. Looks like this is all pretty close, but the 10k seems most reachable.
It's time to get to work, or at least it's time to get back to cleaning up the basement.
Nostalgiaville, USA- In the process of cleaning out my folks' basement, I have discovered many interesting items. I'm a little dismayed by my attitude toward the baseball cards for instance. I have a box full of them. Most are housed in plastic sleeves and organized by team. I'm no longer interested in them, but clearly I spent a big chunk of 1988-1990 buying, trading, and organizing them. It seems callous to toss them. Initially I pulled out the Royals and the Cardinals cards, along with a few pitchers that I followed- Dwight Gooden, Oral Hershesier, Roger Clemens, but then I realized that I didn't really want to keep those collections either. It's time to part ways with a box full of cards. I'm struggling with the trashing (whatever form it may take) of something that at one time was so valuable in time and money. It's hitting me a little hard.
The next item to hit me hard is one that I've been searching for. Earlier this month, I ran a brisk 10k in 36:58. I was pretty proud of it. Since I've only run a few 10k races in my life I figured this one had to be approaching my PR, or personal record. I asked my parents to take a look to see if they could locate results from the only 10k race I remembered from high school. They had no luck finding the results. I asked a friend if he had the results and he figured he lost the results in a move. I was starting to think that I should just call it. Maybe I ran 36:30 in high school. I could go after 36:30.
Welllll, it looks like I didn't give high school me enough credit. I found the results. In '95, I ran 35:40. In '97, I ran 34:43. I need to shave about 22 seconds PER mile off of my time. Um. I'm afraid that means that I have a lot more lifting and running to do. I really thought the 10k time was the most reachable. The course is very flat and of my events, that one probably comes closest.
For comparison sake, let's look at some figures. Most recent mile: 4.41. Best: 4.18. Difference of 23 seconds, over 1 mile. Most recent 5k: 17.11. Best: 15:46. Difference of 1 minute 25 seconds over 3.1 miles or 27 seconds per mile. Looks like this is all pretty close, but the 10k seems most reachable.
It's time to get to work, or at least it's time to get back to cleaning up the basement.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
What a compliment
I think my shin cramped today. That was after the calves, the right quad, the hamstrings, and various cramp-like feelings all up and down my legs. I didn't even know shins could cramp.
I'd like to be able to tell you what it is about Ultimate. Playing for a day beats me up. The beatings tend to get worse the farther away I get from my birthday. The disappointment can be brutal at times. I ended one game today watching a floating disc bounce off my hands. I ended another throwing a break throw right to the defense. Those images tend to stick in my head, but I'm trying to have a short memory. At least I'm trying to replace the bad with good. I'm trying to remember the string where my in cut seemed covered and so I went deep. My deep cut was covered by two people, but Alan threw it anyway. It had a little bend and I read it well, curled around just right, and caught it in stride and with my outstretched hand. I'm thinking of the up the line dump cut I made. I turned and fired a nice flat throw over MBs head that he was able to track down.
Even as I fight my age, my throws have improved. I'm a bit worried that I'm trigger happy of late, but the throws are better than they used to be. Each of those plays provided a high, as did tossing a score to MD, or seeing SM make a perfectly timed cut, or watching YB get a few big D's. There's something special in about every game, something to appreciate and enjoy. The one-offs are one thing, spending a day playing Ultimate with a team is another. There's something about fighting fatigue or about the volume of throws and catches, about the struggle against body, concentration, momentum. I've written about it many times in this space and I spend a great deal of energy and thought on Ultimate. I often run out of things to say about it, but I keep coming back for all those reasons and in a voltron-esque way, more than the sum of those reasons.
As I was standing on the sidelines, exchanging some banter with ES, a teammate on Team Schaefer for some five or so years now, she said a wonderful thing. She said that she appreciated my passion. She liked the way I played and my skill level, but she called the best part, passion.
I find a great deal of joy in chasing the disc and getting lost in the game. It hasn't always been smooth or easy or even fun, but more often than not, I have a "strong or extravagant fondness, enthusiasm, or desire" for Ultimate.
Cheers to another spring tournament.
I think my shin cramped today. That was after the calves, the right quad, the hamstrings, and various cramp-like feelings all up and down my legs. I didn't even know shins could cramp.
I'd like to be able to tell you what it is about Ultimate. Playing for a day beats me up. The beatings tend to get worse the farther away I get from my birthday. The disappointment can be brutal at times. I ended one game today watching a floating disc bounce off my hands. I ended another throwing a break throw right to the defense. Those images tend to stick in my head, but I'm trying to have a short memory. At least I'm trying to replace the bad with good. I'm trying to remember the string where my in cut seemed covered and so I went deep. My deep cut was covered by two people, but Alan threw it anyway. It had a little bend and I read it well, curled around just right, and caught it in stride and with my outstretched hand. I'm thinking of the up the line dump cut I made. I turned and fired a nice flat throw over MBs head that he was able to track down.
Even as I fight my age, my throws have improved. I'm a bit worried that I'm trigger happy of late, but the throws are better than they used to be. Each of those plays provided a high, as did tossing a score to MD, or seeing SM make a perfectly timed cut, or watching YB get a few big D's. There's something special in about every game, something to appreciate and enjoy. The one-offs are one thing, spending a day playing Ultimate with a team is another. There's something about fighting fatigue or about the volume of throws and catches, about the struggle against body, concentration, momentum. I've written about it many times in this space and I spend a great deal of energy and thought on Ultimate. I often run out of things to say about it, but I keep coming back for all those reasons and in a voltron-esque way, more than the sum of those reasons.
As I was standing on the sidelines, exchanging some banter with ES, a teammate on Team Schaefer for some five or so years now, she said a wonderful thing. She said that she appreciated my passion. She liked the way I played and my skill level, but she called the best part, passion.
I find a great deal of joy in chasing the disc and getting lost in the game. It hasn't always been smooth or easy or even fun, but more often than not, I have a "strong or extravagant fondness, enthusiasm, or desire" for Ultimate.
Cheers to another spring tournament.
Monday, May 17, 2010
The three branches of Sunday
Only the judicial branch was not well represented in my Sunday plans. Decisions were made, judgments were passed, and the day reigned supreme, but it was the executive branch, I watched eight episodes of season four The West Wing while recovering, and the legislative branch, I ran a 10k on Capitol Hill, that were the highlights.
I didn’t want to miss a race so close to home. ML and I tried to form a team named “Declarations of Swiftness”, but we ended up declaring our speed only to one another. Fortunately, that was quite enjoyable. I did the wrong things in preparation for the race. I played Ultimate on Saturday. I stayed up and on my feet and even had a few drinks Saturday night. Yet, at the sound of my alarm on Sunday morning, I was ready to go. To me this either highlights the fortunes of genetics or highlights the importance of the more general decisions that get made in life rather than the ones immediately preceding an athletic endeavor.
I endeavored to run reasonably fast. As usual, I hadn’t really trained for the specific race I was about to enter. I thought I’d go out a little slower than my general goal, say 6:15 in the first mile and try to build from there. Those with exceptional recall may remember that a similar plan was enacted for the 10k I ran in December. The story line is remarkably similar. I got distracted in my warm-up catching up with ML, but was still fairly ready when race time rolled around. At first, ML and I stood toward the front of the thousands, but as the minutes came ever closer to start time, I decided that I wanted to be nearly at the starting line. I moved up and chose a spot about three rows deep. At “GO”, the masses bolted. I was immediately stuck behind two young girls, but soon found a space on the outside and made a move. I’d guess about fifty runners stretched out ahead of me. I ran down the center line of the road and watched as the pack began to spread. At the first real waggle around a park, I could still see the leaders moving at lickety-split speed. I was up on my toes and making comfortable, but fast strides. Strategy was again out the window and I crossed the mile at 5:55.
Right on cue, C appeared on the street to cheer me on. In a moment of frivolity, I crossed over to give her a high-five. It was nice to have the support. I returned to the pack and continued to pick away at the runners in front of me. Meanwhile, the sun continued to pick away the clouds. It had started as a cool morning, perfect running weather, but as we neared RFK, the sun sent telegrams from summertime and the wind picked up too. It was lonely, hot, and windy as we rounded the stadium. I made note of it and then focused again on the runner in front of me. I spent a lot of time focused on the next runner. I remember very little of the scenery, even less than usual. My focus was quite pleasing. My thirst, less so.
Back up the slightest hill on the out and back section, I crossed the two mile in 11:50. My pace had not changed. I grabbed at the early water stop with some greed, told C to look for M and went back to my business of chasing backs. I don’t know what happened to mile three or really four. I know I crossed mile four at 23:35 and was pleased that I’d sped up just slightly. I did wonder for a moment if I could hold my pace, but mostly I kept looking ahead. As the pack in front of me broke apart little by little and more runners had separation from each other, I kept passing one at a time. As we neared the downhill of Capitol Hill, I tried hard to encourage one runner to join me in my chase. He wasn’t the only runner I encouraged to try to combine forces, but he was the only one that responded. He stuck with me for several hundred meters as we closed in on another runner. With only a few more meters to go before we closed the gap though, I seemed to lose my new partner. I moved past another and another as we made our way down the hill. I watched the leaders rip by as they made their way through the last turnaround. Third place followed soon after. With a slight estimate, I figured that I was currently running in about fifteenth place. Just before the turn, I picked off the woman who was in second place. By the time I reached the up portion of Capitol Hill, I had the leading woman in my sights. My motivation remained steady and I put a target on her back. I was still closing the gap at about three-quarters of the way up the hill when I couldn’t close any more. I lost a few steps in that last quarter of the hill and a bit more at the crest. It wasn’t a lot, but it was noticeable. I was still moving well, but my legs no longer seemed to be moving at quite the same pace.
At the six mile mark, I was able to recover a little and I began to close the gap a bit. I raced past photographers and I heard the click of their shutters. As soon as I went by I heard more clicks. I hadn’t been passed for miles and I really didn’t want to be passed now. I tried to surge. When I finally turned the corner and could see the finish line, I gave a pretty good kick, but I knew that I was really only fighting to hold off challengers behind me. I could not challenge the woman in front of me.
It was a good race. I ran nine seconds faster than I did in December. My time was 36:58. I placed fourteenth overall and fifth in my age group. I’m pleased.
Only the judicial branch was not well represented in my Sunday plans. Decisions were made, judgments were passed, and the day reigned supreme, but it was the executive branch, I watched eight episodes of season four The West Wing while recovering, and the legislative branch, I ran a 10k on Capitol Hill, that were the highlights.
I didn’t want to miss a race so close to home. ML and I tried to form a team named “Declarations of Swiftness”, but we ended up declaring our speed only to one another. Fortunately, that was quite enjoyable. I did the wrong things in preparation for the race. I played Ultimate on Saturday. I stayed up and on my feet and even had a few drinks Saturday night. Yet, at the sound of my alarm on Sunday morning, I was ready to go. To me this either highlights the fortunes of genetics or highlights the importance of the more general decisions that get made in life rather than the ones immediately preceding an athletic endeavor.
I endeavored to run reasonably fast. As usual, I hadn’t really trained for the specific race I was about to enter. I thought I’d go out a little slower than my general goal, say 6:15 in the first mile and try to build from there. Those with exceptional recall may remember that a similar plan was enacted for the 10k I ran in December. The story line is remarkably similar. I got distracted in my warm-up catching up with ML, but was still fairly ready when race time rolled around. At first, ML and I stood toward the front of the thousands, but as the minutes came ever closer to start time, I decided that I wanted to be nearly at the starting line. I moved up and chose a spot about three rows deep. At “GO”, the masses bolted. I was immediately stuck behind two young girls, but soon found a space on the outside and made a move. I’d guess about fifty runners stretched out ahead of me. I ran down the center line of the road and watched as the pack began to spread. At the first real waggle around a park, I could still see the leaders moving at lickety-split speed. I was up on my toes and making comfortable, but fast strides. Strategy was again out the window and I crossed the mile at 5:55.
Right on cue, C appeared on the street to cheer me on. In a moment of frivolity, I crossed over to give her a high-five. It was nice to have the support. I returned to the pack and continued to pick away at the runners in front of me. Meanwhile, the sun continued to pick away the clouds. It had started as a cool morning, perfect running weather, but as we neared RFK, the sun sent telegrams from summertime and the wind picked up too. It was lonely, hot, and windy as we rounded the stadium. I made note of it and then focused again on the runner in front of me. I spent a lot of time focused on the next runner. I remember very little of the scenery, even less than usual. My focus was quite pleasing. My thirst, less so.
Back up the slightest hill on the out and back section, I crossed the two mile in 11:50. My pace had not changed. I grabbed at the early water stop with some greed, told C to look for M and went back to my business of chasing backs. I don’t know what happened to mile three or really four. I know I crossed mile four at 23:35 and was pleased that I’d sped up just slightly. I did wonder for a moment if I could hold my pace, but mostly I kept looking ahead. As the pack in front of me broke apart little by little and more runners had separation from each other, I kept passing one at a time. As we neared the downhill of Capitol Hill, I tried hard to encourage one runner to join me in my chase. He wasn’t the only runner I encouraged to try to combine forces, but he was the only one that responded. He stuck with me for several hundred meters as we closed in on another runner. With only a few more meters to go before we closed the gap though, I seemed to lose my new partner. I moved past another and another as we made our way down the hill. I watched the leaders rip by as they made their way through the last turnaround. Third place followed soon after. With a slight estimate, I figured that I was currently running in about fifteenth place. Just before the turn, I picked off the woman who was in second place. By the time I reached the up portion of Capitol Hill, I had the leading woman in my sights. My motivation remained steady and I put a target on her back. I was still closing the gap at about three-quarters of the way up the hill when I couldn’t close any more. I lost a few steps in that last quarter of the hill and a bit more at the crest. It wasn’t a lot, but it was noticeable. I was still moving well, but my legs no longer seemed to be moving at quite the same pace.
At the six mile mark, I was able to recover a little and I began to close the gap a bit. I raced past photographers and I heard the click of their shutters. As soon as I went by I heard more clicks. I hadn’t been passed for miles and I really didn’t want to be passed now. I tried to surge. When I finally turned the corner and could see the finish line, I gave a pretty good kick, but I knew that I was really only fighting to hold off challengers behind me. I could not challenge the woman in front of me.
It was a good race. I ran nine seconds faster than I did in December. My time was 36:58. I placed fourteenth overall and fifth in my age group. I’m pleased.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
The return of the psoas
There are few muscles in my body more sinister than the psoas. Some two years ago while trying to play Ultimate on a mid-level club team I managed to aggravate my psoas. I don't know how it happened, but I ended up sitting out most of the season and bouncing around between doctors and therapists who barely managed to help me deal with the slight pain and the decreased use of some much needed body parts for the game of Ultimate. I'm talking about my groin, my back, and my stomach muscles. Pretty important stuff when trying to run, cut, and throw. My life went into a bit of a tailspin at that point. I recognize that aggravation of a major muscle isn't exactly a big deal when so many people are dealing with real problems, but I was inconsolable. It was ugly.
I came to terms with less Ultimate. I spent time weightlifting. I made amends and got a hold of the inconsolable parts and finally talked some sense into them. I'd worked it out. I got to play some Ultimate and I put my energy into other areas. It was good, even great. Then consistent weightlifting started to translate into Ultimate success. Ultimate success sent me out looking for more Ultimate.
Recently, I chose a low-level, low-commitment club team to be my new playground. I figured that I could recruit my friends to be on the team, not worry so much about the game and the score, and have a good time. Parts of me struggled with this decision. There's still a piece of me that yearns to be the best and battle it out with the best, but frankly, I was scared to of the time and effort that might take and I was scared of my psoas. I admitted it, but a voice in my head (and a few voices not in my head) kept egging me on to try to do more. I was content with my decision, until Saturday. On Saturday, the team I'd chosen canceled the low-commitment practice for the rest of the month.
I wanted to play Ultimate. That was the point. So, I made up my mind to put out a feeler at the mid-level again. My psoas didn't like that. I didn't even get to the practice. I just decided to go. That sent my psoas into a frenzy. Just like last time, the pain started in my groin. Then it anchors itself firmly in my right abdomen and teases my back muscles. It doesn't hurt exactly, but it spells trouble. I skipped the mid-level stuff and began trying to do damage control.
Even if I need to slow back down with Ultimate, I will not crash this time. I am more than a game with a disc and I will prove it everyday if I have to.
There are few muscles in my body more sinister than the psoas. Some two years ago while trying to play Ultimate on a mid-level club team I managed to aggravate my psoas. I don't know how it happened, but I ended up sitting out most of the season and bouncing around between doctors and therapists who barely managed to help me deal with the slight pain and the decreased use of some much needed body parts for the game of Ultimate. I'm talking about my groin, my back, and my stomach muscles. Pretty important stuff when trying to run, cut, and throw. My life went into a bit of a tailspin at that point. I recognize that aggravation of a major muscle isn't exactly a big deal when so many people are dealing with real problems, but I was inconsolable. It was ugly.
I came to terms with less Ultimate. I spent time weightlifting. I made amends and got a hold of the inconsolable parts and finally talked some sense into them. I'd worked it out. I got to play some Ultimate and I put my energy into other areas. It was good, even great. Then consistent weightlifting started to translate into Ultimate success. Ultimate success sent me out looking for more Ultimate.
Recently, I chose a low-level, low-commitment club team to be my new playground. I figured that I could recruit my friends to be on the team, not worry so much about the game and the score, and have a good time. Parts of me struggled with this decision. There's still a piece of me that yearns to be the best and battle it out with the best, but frankly, I was scared to of the time and effort that might take and I was scared of my psoas. I admitted it, but a voice in my head (and a few voices not in my head) kept egging me on to try to do more. I was content with my decision, until Saturday. On Saturday, the team I'd chosen canceled the low-commitment practice for the rest of the month.
I wanted to play Ultimate. That was the point. So, I made up my mind to put out a feeler at the mid-level again. My psoas didn't like that. I didn't even get to the practice. I just decided to go. That sent my psoas into a frenzy. Just like last time, the pain started in my groin. Then it anchors itself firmly in my right abdomen and teases my back muscles. It doesn't hurt exactly, but it spells trouble. I skipped the mid-level stuff and began trying to do damage control.
Even if I need to slow back down with Ultimate, I will not crash this time. I am more than a game with a disc and I will prove it everyday if I have to.
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
When the past meets the present
The alumni game is a junior this year. It has found its stride. This by far is the best alumni game we've had. We pulled John from Chicago. We pulled Kevin from 1999. We pulled three of the most prominent women from CUA's Ultimate past (as known to me). There were 30 some-odd people wandering the sidelines and a number of fans. The women's team got a chance to show their stuff and then we went to 5:2 mixed format for the game.
This game had some chatter going into it. The alumni were convinced that this would be their year. Having graduated eight players just one year ago, it was hard to disagree. They lost a couple key individuals to conflicts, but the alumni still looked strong. My loyalties, as they always are, were torn. I tried hard to cheer for Ultimate, but did find myself slightly on the side of the current team as the game was winding down. Maybe a little bit at the beginning too when I offered up a few scouting tips. I found myself on the other side when I picked up a Karpo lame-duck hammer for a score and then tossed a break-side backhand to Arin for another to tie the game before exiting. Alan has recapped the scoring reasonably well. I'll recap a few moments.
What always gets me about the alumni game are the memories and the new battles. One of the great new battles was Rachel vs. Jess. Rachel was playing really well. I'd forgotten how effective she could be, especially against other women. Jess was rotating through a full team of women, so didn't have the chance to battle back. That gave R more opportunities for my flashbacks like when Dirty tossed her the disc and they moved it up the field. Another great battle was Paul and Arin. Arin has the height and great instincts, but Paul can jump to the clouds and he's no slouch in the play-making department. In the nostalgic category, Tim was working the zone, Karpo found a few patented dives, and Alan pulled out some big hucks. It was so neat to see so many familiar faces making familiar plays. So many styles of play remain unchanged. Ranjo still brings a smile to my face. Dan is still tough to chase. John finds his spots. One of the major post college success stories has to be Sam. She has gone from XC runner working the field to Ultimate player. She poached the lanes well, played hard, and just knows what's what. It's pretty awesome. I get to see her weekly, but to see her in the context where I first saw her play, it made me appreciate what she is doing even more.
The game was close, and Stills who graduated at semester switching sides gave the current team too many fast weapons for the tiring alum to handle, but I'd like to believe that the real lessons for the current team are the following: 1. Playing together makes you better. The alums struggled early and late because they didn't have the familiarity to know where their teammates would be or who to turn to, and 2. It doesn't take long to get out of shape. Even the alums a year out of college were remarking about how much faster the game seemed to be and how they weren't used to running. Both of those lessons should be applied to the current team as they head to next year.
For me, what I take away more than anything else, is what I've always taken away. Ultimate people are good people. I'm so lucky that the CUA gang has let me hang around and grow with the team. I look forward to many games to come.
The alumni game is a junior this year. It has found its stride. This by far is the best alumni game we've had. We pulled John from Chicago. We pulled Kevin from 1999. We pulled three of the most prominent women from CUA's Ultimate past (as known to me). There were 30 some-odd people wandering the sidelines and a number of fans. The women's team got a chance to show their stuff and then we went to 5:2 mixed format for the game.
This game had some chatter going into it. The alumni were convinced that this would be their year. Having graduated eight players just one year ago, it was hard to disagree. They lost a couple key individuals to conflicts, but the alumni still looked strong. My loyalties, as they always are, were torn. I tried hard to cheer for Ultimate, but did find myself slightly on the side of the current team as the game was winding down. Maybe a little bit at the beginning too when I offered up a few scouting tips. I found myself on the other side when I picked up a Karpo lame-duck hammer for a score and then tossed a break-side backhand to Arin for another to tie the game before exiting. Alan has recapped the scoring reasonably well. I'll recap a few moments.
What always gets me about the alumni game are the memories and the new battles. One of the great new battles was Rachel vs. Jess. Rachel was playing really well. I'd forgotten how effective she could be, especially against other women. Jess was rotating through a full team of women, so didn't have the chance to battle back. That gave R more opportunities for my flashbacks like when Dirty tossed her the disc and they moved it up the field. Another great battle was Paul and Arin. Arin has the height and great instincts, but Paul can jump to the clouds and he's no slouch in the play-making department. In the nostalgic category, Tim was working the zone, Karpo found a few patented dives, and Alan pulled out some big hucks. It was so neat to see so many familiar faces making familiar plays. So many styles of play remain unchanged. Ranjo still brings a smile to my face. Dan is still tough to chase. John finds his spots. One of the major post college success stories has to be Sam. She has gone from XC runner working the field to Ultimate player. She poached the lanes well, played hard, and just knows what's what. It's pretty awesome. I get to see her weekly, but to see her in the context where I first saw her play, it made me appreciate what she is doing even more.
The game was close, and Stills who graduated at semester switching sides gave the current team too many fast weapons for the tiring alum to handle, but I'd like to believe that the real lessons for the current team are the following: 1. Playing together makes you better. The alums struggled early and late because they didn't have the familiarity to know where their teammates would be or who to turn to, and 2. It doesn't take long to get out of shape. Even the alums a year out of college were remarking about how much faster the game seemed to be and how they weren't used to running. Both of those lessons should be applied to the current team as they head to next year.
For me, what I take away more than anything else, is what I've always taken away. Ultimate people are good people. I'm so lucky that the CUA gang has let me hang around and grow with the team. I look forward to many games to come.
Saturday, May 01, 2010
May day quick hits
*There will likely be a bigger mushier post about Ultimate after the alumni game tomorrow, but for now, I just have to say that although Team Schaefer got crushed today, I dropped a really dumb pass and threw a couple away, for one moment I jumped like I haven't jumped in years and skyed a guy. It. felt. awesome. I also had some passes that had my roommate M working hard, but she did the dirty work to pull them in. That was pretty cool too.
*I took a one-day-only business trip yesterday. I don't know that I've ever flown somewhere and then come back all in one day. It was a morning meeting and I think I was there mostly as a show of support. It felt surreal and I've been tired pretty much since then. It's part of some new responsibilities which have me excited about my job, but it's going to be a challenge.
*I had something else important to say, but it's gone.
*There will likely be a bigger mushier post about Ultimate after the alumni game tomorrow, but for now, I just have to say that although Team Schaefer got crushed today, I dropped a really dumb pass and threw a couple away, for one moment I jumped like I haven't jumped in years and skyed a guy. It. felt. awesome. I also had some passes that had my roommate M working hard, but she did the dirty work to pull them in. That was pretty cool too.
*I took a one-day-only business trip yesterday. I don't know that I've ever flown somewhere and then come back all in one day. It was a morning meeting and I think I was there mostly as a show of support. It felt surreal and I've been tired pretty much since then. It's part of some new responsibilities which have me excited about my job, but it's going to be a challenge.
*I had something else important to say, but it's gone.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
The list in my head
There's a checklist that I go through mentally almost every day. Did I eat? Did I exercise? Did I take a moment to recharge? Using a variation of the international "check please" symbol, I either place my check mark in the sky or I address the list item. Did I eat? Did I exercise? Did I take a moment to recharge? are my three main questions. The catch is about 153 other questions seem to sneak onto the list every day.
It sometimes feels as though my main job is beating back those questions so that I can affirm my main three. Some days I beat the others back well and some days not so much. The other catch (man, it stinks that there are two catches) is that it seems to me that my main questions have become trickier. I used to answer, "Did I eat?" with "Yeah, straight from a can." Now, I want to answer that I ate in a healthy way. I had my veggies, my protein, my omega-3s, and on and on. I used to answer "Did I exercise?" with "Yeah. I ran." Now, I want to answer that I warmed up, ran and/or lifted, used the foam-roller, and stretched. "Did I take a moment to recharge?" has grown trickier as well. It's not the answer that has changed as much as the moments that are in competition with the recharging moment. I can sometimes steal a moment in the exercise or in the eating or cooking. I can sometimes steal a moment at work or on my commute. The tricky part is my mind. It often chooses to run through the daily list instead of taking a moment. Sometimes when I mean to take a moment I end up on the Internet trying to get a little kick from a new status update or a new email. It occasionally works, but it's often a hollow victory, not a real moment to recharge.
There are times when other items make the main list. Writing still makes a cameo appearance. Thinking about playing the banjo tries to throw its hat in the ring. Ultimate and the associated planning still takes a starring role. The list is life and it keeps going.
There's a checklist that I go through mentally almost every day. Did I eat? Did I exercise? Did I take a moment to recharge? Using a variation of the international "check please" symbol, I either place my check mark in the sky or I address the list item. Did I eat? Did I exercise? Did I take a moment to recharge? are my three main questions. The catch is about 153 other questions seem to sneak onto the list every day.
It sometimes feels as though my main job is beating back those questions so that I can affirm my main three. Some days I beat the others back well and some days not so much. The other catch (man, it stinks that there are two catches) is that it seems to me that my main questions have become trickier. I used to answer, "Did I eat?" with "Yeah, straight from a can." Now, I want to answer that I ate in a healthy way. I had my veggies, my protein, my omega-3s, and on and on. I used to answer "Did I exercise?" with "Yeah. I ran." Now, I want to answer that I warmed up, ran and/or lifted, used the foam-roller, and stretched. "Did I take a moment to recharge?" has grown trickier as well. It's not the answer that has changed as much as the moments that are in competition with the recharging moment. I can sometimes steal a moment in the exercise or in the eating or cooking. I can sometimes steal a moment at work or on my commute. The tricky part is my mind. It often chooses to run through the daily list instead of taking a moment. Sometimes when I mean to take a moment I end up on the Internet trying to get a little kick from a new status update or a new email. It occasionally works, but it's often a hollow victory, not a real moment to recharge.
There are times when other items make the main list. Writing still makes a cameo appearance. Thinking about playing the banjo tries to throw its hat in the ring. Ultimate and the associated planning still takes a starring role. The list is life and it keeps going.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
College Sectionals
There were two main story lines at Sectionals for Habit. I tried my best to be part of both. In the open division, we were back at St. Mary's with Bad Habit. I still had some bad memories lingering from last year. Entering the outskirts of town, I could still taste a bit of the disappointment of wasted potential, as eight graduates had managed to not practice together much and it showed throughout the tournament. I wiped away that taste. This was a new year with new expectations. The men were seeded 11th out of 19 teams. I'd heard murmurs that we would upset the apple cart with this team, but although we are a young team, I was realistic because we'd run into some of the same problems. Practice time together has been mostly a luxury. I saw our seed as appropriate, maybe even high. I wanted us to build on the experience though and come back stronger in the future.
On the other side, were the women. Some time, not long, ago I realized that we were just a few women short from having enough for a line. I started to think that maybe we could take a team to Sectionals. I pushed a little in February to try to send a team to a tournament, but it didn't fly. A few weeks ago, with the enthusiasm of Paco and the return of Fruit Loop, the team took shape. In three weeks we saw recruits come and for the time being go. By the end the women had just enough to field a team, eight on Saturday and seven on Sunday. They had no expectations, and having never played a game, were seeded 12th of 14 teams. We had to laugh at that.
I was bouncing back and forth between games trying to see as much as I could and be there for the key moments. I missed a lot, but I saw a lot. Bad Habit (the men) split their games on Saturday, losing to the teams seeded above and handling the teams seeded below. Good Habit (the women) dropped two games to strong contenders and then crushed a B team in the cross-over game. The first victory was nearly a shutout and I was surprised to see that the tiers of teams were so varied.
I was proud of the individuals, but it seemed like Bad Habit couldn't quite gel or couldn't hold it for long when they did. I don't know how to teach that or what it would take, but I suspect it's practice. Good Habit on the other hand seemed to be coming together. Perhaps it was expectations, or perhaps it was the fact that the women only had each other and no subs by Sunday.
There was no one on either of the teams that I wasn't proud of. Everyone was a great reminder of why I like to be a part of this sport. The effort and the highlights of individuals working together were something special. The frustration came when someone tried to do too much or when we realized that we'd let too much potential slip away. It's okay to want more, but demanding it as Sectionals slides through our fingers seems counter-productive. It needs to be demanded months ago.
The men finished 12th, the women 10th. Their weekends were nearly parallel, small squads, flashes of talent, fading a bit at the end. One slight difference: Expectations. The other slight difference: The attitude that came with those expectations.
I don't know if it was seeing freshman score, or make calls, or make good cuts that made me happiest. It might have been the great catches by the women and their aggressive defense that pleased me most, but it was only by a hair. It only outshone the battles and the rest of the game and the men's fight against Maryland slightly. I hated wanting to be in two places at once, but it was super to be a part of both experiences. Choices loom in the future, but for now, Sectionals met and perhaps even exceeded my expectations. Can we carry that momentum forward? And am I the guy to help?
There were two main story lines at Sectionals for Habit. I tried my best to be part of both. In the open division, we were back at St. Mary's with Bad Habit. I still had some bad memories lingering from last year. Entering the outskirts of town, I could still taste a bit of the disappointment of wasted potential, as eight graduates had managed to not practice together much and it showed throughout the tournament. I wiped away that taste. This was a new year with new expectations. The men were seeded 11th out of 19 teams. I'd heard murmurs that we would upset the apple cart with this team, but although we are a young team, I was realistic because we'd run into some of the same problems. Practice time together has been mostly a luxury. I saw our seed as appropriate, maybe even high. I wanted us to build on the experience though and come back stronger in the future.
On the other side, were the women. Some time, not long, ago I realized that we were just a few women short from having enough for a line. I started to think that maybe we could take a team to Sectionals. I pushed a little in February to try to send a team to a tournament, but it didn't fly. A few weeks ago, with the enthusiasm of Paco and the return of Fruit Loop, the team took shape. In three weeks we saw recruits come and for the time being go. By the end the women had just enough to field a team, eight on Saturday and seven on Sunday. They had no expectations, and having never played a game, were seeded 12th of 14 teams. We had to laugh at that.
I was bouncing back and forth between games trying to see as much as I could and be there for the key moments. I missed a lot, but I saw a lot. Bad Habit (the men) split their games on Saturday, losing to the teams seeded above and handling the teams seeded below. Good Habit (the women) dropped two games to strong contenders and then crushed a B team in the cross-over game. The first victory was nearly a shutout and I was surprised to see that the tiers of teams were so varied.
I was proud of the individuals, but it seemed like Bad Habit couldn't quite gel or couldn't hold it for long when they did. I don't know how to teach that or what it would take, but I suspect it's practice. Good Habit on the other hand seemed to be coming together. Perhaps it was expectations, or perhaps it was the fact that the women only had each other and no subs by Sunday.
There was no one on either of the teams that I wasn't proud of. Everyone was a great reminder of why I like to be a part of this sport. The effort and the highlights of individuals working together were something special. The frustration came when someone tried to do too much or when we realized that we'd let too much potential slip away. It's okay to want more, but demanding it as Sectionals slides through our fingers seems counter-productive. It needs to be demanded months ago.
The men finished 12th, the women 10th. Their weekends were nearly parallel, small squads, flashes of talent, fading a bit at the end. One slight difference: Expectations. The other slight difference: The attitude that came with those expectations.
I don't know if it was seeing freshman score, or make calls, or make good cuts that made me happiest. It might have been the great catches by the women and their aggressive defense that pleased me most, but it was only by a hair. It only outshone the battles and the rest of the game and the men's fight against Maryland slightly. I hated wanting to be in two places at once, but it was super to be a part of both experiences. Choices loom in the future, but for now, Sectionals met and perhaps even exceeded my expectations. Can we carry that momentum forward? And am I the guy to help?
Monday, April 12, 2010
Neglect and vacations
If not for the posts I just snuck into March and early April about vacation, it had been nearly a month since I've posted to the old blog. I tried some new things on vacation this round. It was a more relaxing brand of vacation and it included Internet access. I knocked out two books and while I intended to do some "writing", all I really came up with were the posts below. Rather than just take notes, I wrote my posts on the road. I found it interesting to reread because I could sense the feeling of the day better than with the notes, but as I slightly edited my work I realized that I missed recreating the vacation days in my head. I suppose a different kind of vacation calls for a different kind of record.
I have Sectionals tales to tell now after just a few days after getting back to the US of A and holiday pictures which appear to be particularly grainy to edit and post to other places, so perhaps more is to come. This record of life goes on, round and round, and for the moment, in a groove.
If not for the posts I just snuck into March and early April about vacation, it had been nearly a month since I've posted to the old blog. I tried some new things on vacation this round. It was a more relaxing brand of vacation and it included Internet access. I knocked out two books and while I intended to do some "writing", all I really came up with were the posts below. Rather than just take notes, I wrote my posts on the road. I found it interesting to reread because I could sense the feeling of the day better than with the notes, but as I slightly edited my work I realized that I missed recreating the vacation days in my head. I suppose a different kind of vacation calls for a different kind of record.
I have Sectionals tales to tell now after just a few days after getting back to the US of A and holiday pictures which appear to be particularly grainy to edit and post to other places, so perhaps more is to come. This record of life goes on, round and round, and for the moment, in a groove.
Monday, April 05, 2010
One last day
I was done last night, ready to go home, but today was grrreat. After seeing the Fry Guy off, C and I were finally able to rent bikes. It barely happened again though as we failed to get the tandem they promised us and then we were the last two bikes they sent out. Phew.
It started off a little scary, but after some time we were able to translate the claims of bike-friendly and wind our way up the hill to the '92 Olympic Stadium and then back down to take bike paths that were weaving all over the city. We stopped by the port for some tapas and outdoor seating and paid for it, but the weather was nearly perfect and the tapas weren't bad either. I could have done without the little fried fish, but C ate them up. We biked on for most of the afternoon, passing some great views and some new sights. Biking really turned out to be a great way to see lots of Barcelona in a blur. We stopped when we needed to stop and covered the city nicely. There are a few spots that we didn't get to- Tibidabo looms on the hill for next time, but we rocked the Ramblas and were shocked by the sheer number of people out on a Monday. It must be spring break somewhere.
We decided to stay close to our boutique hostel for dinner. Google maps directed us to an 11th century castle. We thought it might be too expensive, but decided to splurge. We arrived at 8:15 before the kitchen even opened. We decided to wait and we were rewarded. I had amazing grilled vegetables and then Iberian ham with some foie gras on top. This dinner usurped the French cuisine of the other night. It was that good and it was finished with nougat ice cream with whiskey. I don't know my Spanish or my Catalonian, but it was magnificent.
Tomorrow is the long ride home.
I was done last night, ready to go home, but today was grrreat. After seeing the Fry Guy off, C and I were finally able to rent bikes. It barely happened again though as we failed to get the tandem they promised us and then we were the last two bikes they sent out. Phew.
It started off a little scary, but after some time we were able to translate the claims of bike-friendly and wind our way up the hill to the '92 Olympic Stadium and then back down to take bike paths that were weaving all over the city. We stopped by the port for some tapas and outdoor seating and paid for it, but the weather was nearly perfect and the tapas weren't bad either. I could have done without the little fried fish, but C ate them up. We biked on for most of the afternoon, passing some great views and some new sights. Biking really turned out to be a great way to see lots of Barcelona in a blur. We stopped when we needed to stop and covered the city nicely. There are a few spots that we didn't get to- Tibidabo looms on the hill for next time, but we rocked the Ramblas and were shocked by the sheer number of people out on a Monday. It must be spring break somewhere.
We decided to stay close to our boutique hostel for dinner. Google maps directed us to an 11th century castle. We thought it might be too expensive, but decided to splurge. We arrived at 8:15 before the kitchen even opened. We decided to wait and we were rewarded. I had amazing grilled vegetables and then Iberian ham with some foie gras on top. This dinner usurped the French cuisine of the other night. It was that good and it was finished with nougat ice cream with whiskey. I don't know my Spanish or my Catalonian, but it was magnificent.
Tomorrow is the long ride home.
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Things not going as planned
Train canceled. Rerouted, waited for a bus while our train came, had the real French cafe experience while we waited for another train. Took the train to a college town that was not our planned destination. Fry Guy and the Hamburgler had to eat so they went to McDonald's. I went looking for a hostel and it was full, so was much of the town. We finally found a 2-star joint and took it. Hamburgler found it creepy. She went back to the train station to get Internet while Fry guy and I went to find me some grub. I found a good restaurant that served three courses. Fry guy left me to go get Hamburgler from our designated meeting spot. I waited forever at dinner. Fry guy didn't return after the Chevre Chaud and well into my cassoulet. Hamburgler was nowhere to be seen. I was a little freaked. I was then told that she'd had some run-ins with locals, fell down, broke down in a hotel lobby, and just ran into Fry guy as they were circling our hotel. I wasn't loving it, but I downed my three scoops of awesome ice cream and went back to the crap hotel. Bam. A zillion hours later we made it to Barcelona.
Fry guy and I went to Guell Park- totally Gaudi. Then we all went to an apartment joint by Gaudi. It was pretty cool and had a neat looking roof-top terrace that rain prevented us from visiting. We walked to Rita's for some good food. Thanks guide-book. I finally found some vegetables after surviving the day on bread and lunch meat. We rambled down the Ramblas and returned to the hostel where our room is next to the common area and it's loud. Go earplugs. Maybe next time we should camp. I'm ready to go home.
Train canceled. Rerouted, waited for a bus while our train came, had the real French cafe experience while we waited for another train. Took the train to a college town that was not our planned destination. Fry Guy and the Hamburgler had to eat so they went to McDonald's. I went looking for a hostel and it was full, so was much of the town. We finally found a 2-star joint and took it. Hamburgler found it creepy. She went back to the train station to get Internet while Fry guy and I went to find me some grub. I found a good restaurant that served three courses. Fry guy left me to go get Hamburgler from our designated meeting spot. I waited forever at dinner. Fry guy didn't return after the Chevre Chaud and well into my cassoulet. Hamburgler was nowhere to be seen. I was a little freaked. I was then told that she'd had some run-ins with locals, fell down, broke down in a hotel lobby, and just ran into Fry guy as they were circling our hotel. I wasn't loving it, but I downed my three scoops of awesome ice cream and went back to the crap hotel. Bam. A zillion hours later we made it to Barcelona.
Fry guy and I went to Guell Park- totally Gaudi. Then we all went to an apartment joint by Gaudi. It was pretty cool and had a neat looking roof-top terrace that rain prevented us from visiting. We walked to Rita's for some good food. Thanks guide-book. I finally found some vegetables after surviving the day on bread and lunch meat. We rambled down the Ramblas and returned to the hostel where our room is next to the common area and it's loud. Go earplugs. Maybe next time we should camp. I'm ready to go home.
Friday, April 02, 2010
Vendredi, the bulls
No fondue.
Today was largely about sampling and relaxation. I suppose my run was not so relaxing, but after that I read extensively about Julia Child's life in France. That lady was a character. It was bright and sunny out and I rotated through reading locations from the roof deck, to the bedroom, to the library, to the dining room and back again. This went on most of the day.
It was our last day in France and we started to grab at all things French. For late breakfast, we sampled items from the patisserie. The Nutella on a sugary hole-less doughnut-like substance was pretty solid. As we walked to the bull fight, I nabbed my first crepe of the trip, Nutella again. We decided to dine in after the bull fight and whipped up steaks, pasta, frozen veggies, and bread and olives. We topped it off with leftover chocolate tart and venietta(?).
Enough about the food, what about the bull fight? I have mixed emotions on the bull fight. It wasn't quite as exciting as I remember. I was about eight at the time, so perhaps my memory has grown fuzzy. There was a lot of showy posturing and downtime. I suppose it's also possible that my tastes have changed a bit in the last 23 years. There was a certain elegance to go along with the bloodshed. Although, I did find it strange how much running from the bulls seemed standard. Perhaps we needed a reminder of the speed and power of the bull. We were pretty high up and the fighters made a dangerous sport look mostly easy.
We saw a matador make his debut in the hometown Arles arena. It was interesting to contrast his style with the far more popular fighter who followed. The hometown boy had trouble finishing off his bulls and elicited some whistles of disapproval while El Juli's strikes were deadly and brought out the white handkerchief waves of the fans. (We found out later this was a plea to give the fighter the bull's ear due to his fine performance.) The blood was at times gushing and hard to watch. One fighter who enjoyed taunting the bulls, miscalculated and nearly got gored which gave the crowd a fright. Another missed his mark and seemed to trip. There were moments of excitement and tension for both fans of the matador and fans of the bulls. I think it was clear that people respected the bulls and yet I had moments where I was repulsed by the display. Those moments passed when I thought about my forthcoming steak dinner.
We closed out the night with the instant slideshows of the digital age and a final toasting of French wine and beer. Tomorrow brings the last of bread for breakfast and a day of travel and separation. We'll make our return to Barcelona (or so we thought).
No fondue.
Today was largely about sampling and relaxation. I suppose my run was not so relaxing, but after that I read extensively about Julia Child's life in France. That lady was a character. It was bright and sunny out and I rotated through reading locations from the roof deck, to the bedroom, to the library, to the dining room and back again. This went on most of the day.
It was our last day in France and we started to grab at all things French. For late breakfast, we sampled items from the patisserie. The Nutella on a sugary hole-less doughnut-like substance was pretty solid. As we walked to the bull fight, I nabbed my first crepe of the trip, Nutella again. We decided to dine in after the bull fight and whipped up steaks, pasta, frozen veggies, and bread and olives. We topped it off with leftover chocolate tart and venietta(?).
Enough about the food, what about the bull fight? I have mixed emotions on the bull fight. It wasn't quite as exciting as I remember. I was about eight at the time, so perhaps my memory has grown fuzzy. There was a lot of showy posturing and downtime. I suppose it's also possible that my tastes have changed a bit in the last 23 years. There was a certain elegance to go along with the bloodshed. Although, I did find it strange how much running from the bulls seemed standard. Perhaps we needed a reminder of the speed and power of the bull. We were pretty high up and the fighters made a dangerous sport look mostly easy.
We saw a matador make his debut in the hometown Arles arena. It was interesting to contrast his style with the far more popular fighter who followed. The hometown boy had trouble finishing off his bulls and elicited some whistles of disapproval while El Juli's strikes were deadly and brought out the white handkerchief waves of the fans. (We found out later this was a plea to give the fighter the bull's ear due to his fine performance.) The blood was at times gushing and hard to watch. One fighter who enjoyed taunting the bulls, miscalculated and nearly got gored which gave the crowd a fright. Another missed his mark and seemed to trip. There were moments of excitement and tension for both fans of the matador and fans of the bulls. I think it was clear that people respected the bulls and yet I had moments where I was repulsed by the display. Those moments passed when I thought about my forthcoming steak dinner.
We closed out the night with the instant slideshows of the digital age and a final toasting of French wine and beer. Tomorrow brings the last of bread for breakfast and a day of travel and separation. We'll make our return to Barcelona (or so we thought).
Thursday, April 01, 2010
Birthday plans and beyond
We flip-flopped our plans at the last minute and purchased tickets for a train as it pulled away from the station. Eventually we made it to Marseilles, where we again did not rent bikes. C tried to leave the rest of us behind on public transit, but we found our way to reunion at the port. We tried to go to Chateau d'If (famous thanks to the Count of Monte Cristo), but it was closed due to weather. We assumed wind as it was a bright sunny day. Marseilles was a happening place, but we headed by the island of If and went right on to the island of Frioul (I think). We hiked a bit, had some great looks at If and Marseille. I couldn't believe how far it stretched along the coast. It turned into a good day. To keep the string going we headed out for dinner and quickly found that no one was willing to seat us. We gave up and headed to the street vendor's steak haiche and fries sandwiches. They were surprisingly delicious. We'd planned ahead and had a delicious tart for dessert.
We woke up early to return to Avignon and rent bikes. My patisserie self control was now shot, so I had maxi coco for breakfast part deux and just finished off a sachristine before recording these events. We took the bus to Avignon, showed up to rent bikes within the given time to do so, and still the bike shop was closed. ARG. We ended up renting city bikes from a kiosk called VeloPop. It's like smart bikes in DC or other card-based bike rentals. The bikes are tanks, but they got us out and around in Avignon. We cruised the Rhone and later crossed the bridge to ride on an island in the middle of the river. It was a gorgeous day and time well spent. We then separated for shopping adventures. I found a great store, but couldn't quite bring myself to spend 80 euros on a rustic French clock. I saw some tie-dye yarn and a shirt for the sandwich- it said, "My other shirt with awesome graphics is in the laundry."
Tonight, fondue?
We flip-flopped our plans at the last minute and purchased tickets for a train as it pulled away from the station. Eventually we made it to Marseilles, where we again did not rent bikes. C tried to leave the rest of us behind on public transit, but we found our way to reunion at the port. We tried to go to Chateau d'If (famous thanks to the Count of Monte Cristo), but it was closed due to weather. We assumed wind as it was a bright sunny day. Marseilles was a happening place, but we headed by the island of If and went right on to the island of Frioul (I think). We hiked a bit, had some great looks at If and Marseille. I couldn't believe how far it stretched along the coast. It turned into a good day. To keep the string going we headed out for dinner and quickly found that no one was willing to seat us. We gave up and headed to the street vendor's steak haiche and fries sandwiches. They were surprisingly delicious. We'd planned ahead and had a delicious tart for dessert.
We woke up early to return to Avignon and rent bikes. My patisserie self control was now shot, so I had maxi coco for breakfast part deux and just finished off a sachristine before recording these events. We took the bus to Avignon, showed up to rent bikes within the given time to do so, and still the bike shop was closed. ARG. We ended up renting city bikes from a kiosk called VeloPop. It's like smart bikes in DC or other card-based bike rentals. The bikes are tanks, but they got us out and around in Avignon. We cruised the Rhone and later crossed the bridge to ride on an island in the middle of the river. It was a gorgeous day and time well spent. We then separated for shopping adventures. I found a great store, but couldn't quite bring myself to spend 80 euros on a rustic French clock. I saw some tie-dye yarn and a shirt for the sandwich- it said, "My other shirt with awesome graphics is in the laundry."
Tonight, fondue?
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Day Mardi
We bounced up before eight and noticed immediately that sunny France was not looking so sunny. The bike riding plans were put on hold. This was the Europe of my childhood and I wasn't going to let a little rain stop me. I left for a run immediately after breakfast and returned in the rain. Then came the thunderstorm. Maybe it was good we weren't riding, but I was still bummed. Arles is not big and we were reaching its activity/shopping/tourist attraction/Roman ruin capacity. We had lunch at a cafe. I chose the plat du jour which was fish. It was a risk, but I needed to take one. The fish was supposedly sweet. It wasn't candy fish, but it wasn't fishy-fish either. I'd write about the kind of fish, but I could neither understand the waiter nor read it on the chalked-in blackboard menu. Fish it is! I survived.
After some false starts, C and I made our way to Avignon by train. It turns out Avignon was a temporary Vatican City some time ago. The cool thing about Avignon was its wall. There's something about a town inside a wall. It seems important. Avignon was pleasant enough, pretty even, in its views of the Rhone river and the famous bridge that no longer spans the gap, Saint Benezet's Bridge. I took lots of pictures and am extremely pleased with my camera. Avignon tested my lens though, as much of the scenery was pretty far away and I needed a little more zoom, or a telephoto lens. I was prepared for my limitations though, so for now I'll return to the arty pictures and when that doesn't work I'll use one of the filters like fish-eye.
I stepped up my French game a bit today, in a sense. C burnt out at the train station and I could tell she'd had it. We couldn't figure out if the train was headed back to Arles or not and we weren't really in the mood to go to the wrong place. Finally after bouncing around between signs, I went up and asked the ticket agent if he spoke English. I asked in French. He responded in English, "very badly". We got through it and on to the right train. Later I snuck off to do a little shopping excursion. I knew what I wanted and said "I want" in French, but then had to resort to pointing. I had no idea what the clerk was asking me when she wondered if it was a gift. The French pretty much fell apart there and her English came through. She was extremely polite and switched back to French to complete our transaction. I mostly stood around bewildered.
Tonight, BC arrives by train (we hope). More adventures tomorrow.
We bounced up before eight and noticed immediately that sunny France was not looking so sunny. The bike riding plans were put on hold. This was the Europe of my childhood and I wasn't going to let a little rain stop me. I left for a run immediately after breakfast and returned in the rain. Then came the thunderstorm. Maybe it was good we weren't riding, but I was still bummed. Arles is not big and we were reaching its activity/shopping/tourist attraction/Roman ruin capacity. We had lunch at a cafe. I chose the plat du jour which was fish. It was a risk, but I needed to take one. The fish was supposedly sweet. It wasn't candy fish, but it wasn't fishy-fish either. I'd write about the kind of fish, but I could neither understand the waiter nor read it on the chalked-in blackboard menu. Fish it is! I survived.
After some false starts, C and I made our way to Avignon by train. It turns out Avignon was a temporary Vatican City some time ago. The cool thing about Avignon was its wall. There's something about a town inside a wall. It seems important. Avignon was pleasant enough, pretty even, in its views of the Rhone river and the famous bridge that no longer spans the gap, Saint Benezet's Bridge. I took lots of pictures and am extremely pleased with my camera. Avignon tested my lens though, as much of the scenery was pretty far away and I needed a little more zoom, or a telephoto lens. I was prepared for my limitations though, so for now I'll return to the arty pictures and when that doesn't work I'll use one of the filters like fish-eye.
I stepped up my French game a bit today, in a sense. C burnt out at the train station and I could tell she'd had it. We couldn't figure out if the train was headed back to Arles or not and we weren't really in the mood to go to the wrong place. Finally after bouncing around between signs, I went up and asked the ticket agent if he spoke English. I asked in French. He responded in English, "very badly". We got through it and on to the right train. Later I snuck off to do a little shopping excursion. I knew what I wanted and said "I want" in French, but then had to resort to pointing. I had no idea what the clerk was asking me when she wondered if it was a gift. The French pretty much fell apart there and her English came through. She was extremely polite and switched back to French to complete our transaction. I mostly stood around bewildered.
Tonight, BC arrives by train (we hope). More adventures tomorrow.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Day lundi
Another lazy day for us. We meandered around town and passed by the ampitheater, the St. Triomphe church and Hotel de Ville. We ate couscous for lunch and meandered some more. We traveled through industrial Arles to try to find a bike rental shop, but came up empty. We ended up tossing the disc in a field nearby. On the way back through town, we shopped hungrily at the monoprix (Arles' answer to WalMart) and made dinner at home. Arles is the sausage capital of France and we added some sausage to pasta for dinner. It tasted great and we're turning in early to try to discover morning in Arles tomorrow.
Another lazy day for us. We meandered around town and passed by the ampitheater, the St. Triomphe church and Hotel de Ville. We ate couscous for lunch and meandered some more. We traveled through industrial Arles to try to find a bike rental shop, but came up empty. We ended up tossing the disc in a field nearby. On the way back through town, we shopped hungrily at the monoprix (Arles' answer to WalMart) and made dinner at home. Arles is the sausage capital of France and we added some sausage to pasta for dinner. It tasted great and we're turning in early to try to discover morning in Arles tomorrow.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Another day in Arles
We lost some time to daylight savings and some more time to a desperate need to sleep. By lunch time, we were ready for breakfast. C went out to get bread, jam, and Nutella to go with our tea. We spent the day meandering about town, past the arena where we'd later see the bullfight and through the forum/square/thing. We again had trouble finding a restaurant who wanted to serve us food on our schedule. We finally settled outside a cafe and proceeded to order every salade on the menu as we conversed away the afternoon. It was very French and relaxing, but for our English tongues. We went to the grocery store to gather dinner on our own terms and ended up with bags and cans of food, including steak in some very strange packaging, frozen legume mixtures, and a can of lentils. I designed that dinner, merci beaucoup.
I went for a run along the Rhone and felt great. I was bounding off rocks and hurdling gates as I ran past the sheep and the water treatment plant before turning around at the goats. The goats were loud and I was actually a little frightened of them. I was running on my toes as I think I'm gearing up to go barefoot. It may be a placebo effect, but I swear it engages the big muscles and makes me feel faster.
It took three of us and lots of effort to get the grill going on our rooftop terrace for dinner. I can't even blame the brie, wine, or darkness as a distraction. It was simply poor fire skill at work. We finally got things cooking and turned out a fine meal. Bed has come quickly, but then it would since I hadn't left it that long ago.
We lost some time to daylight savings and some more time to a desperate need to sleep. By lunch time, we were ready for breakfast. C went out to get bread, jam, and Nutella to go with our tea. We spent the day meandering about town, past the arena where we'd later see the bullfight and through the forum/square/thing. We again had trouble finding a restaurant who wanted to serve us food on our schedule. We finally settled outside a cafe and proceeded to order every salade on the menu as we conversed away the afternoon. It was very French and relaxing, but for our English tongues. We went to the grocery store to gather dinner on our own terms and ended up with bags and cans of food, including steak in some very strange packaging, frozen legume mixtures, and a can of lentils. I designed that dinner, merci beaucoup.
I went for a run along the Rhone and felt great. I was bounding off rocks and hurdling gates as I ran past the sheep and the water treatment plant before turning around at the goats. The goats were loud and I was actually a little frightened of them. I was running on my toes as I think I'm gearing up to go barefoot. It may be a placebo effect, but I swear it engages the big muscles and makes me feel faster.
It took three of us and lots of effort to get the grill going on our rooftop terrace for dinner. I can't even blame the brie, wine, or darkness as a distraction. It was simply poor fire skill at work. We finally got things cooking and turned out a fine meal. Bed has come quickly, but then it would since I hadn't left it that long ago.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Vacation
The first few days of the trip were spent in full travel mode. I took those jet-lag pills, but I'm either too tired to notice them working or they didn't work. There was a trans-Atlantic flight to London. I actually did some sleeping since the entertainment system was on the fritz. In Heathrow, we hit up the yotel (probably pronounced like hotel, but I preferred the pronunciation that more closely mirrored the high pitched singing in the Alps). The yotel was the comforts of a cruise ship on dry land bathed in purple light. We were packed in like a can of those smelly fishes. As far as hotels connected to an airport go, the yotel is definitely the best (and only) one I've ever stayed in. From London, we flew to Barcelona. I have no idea what happened in Barcelona except that I vaguely recall some dinner, a hostel, a walk, and some attempts at Spanish that went nowhere. There was an Amazing Race-style event that C and I attempted at her urging. Somehow my train got walloped by her bus. I have to wonder if it was rigged.
To add to the international intrigue, my pocket was very nearly picked on the public transit system. Fortunately, I felt the shady fellow trying and failing to scratch my passport out of my pocket. It was pretty awkward and unnerving, but a good wake-up call.
Then came a new day with a lost lens cap and a train ride from Barcelona to Arles, France. I think the train ride in Norway spoiled me. There were some nice moments where green rolling hills dotted with country houses and towns were part of the vast landscape in front of the snow-capped Pyrenees, but there were also a fair number of industrial buildings with graffiti on their backsides. I mostly took to reading "The Yellow Jersey". The cover calls it the greatest cycling novel ever written. I'm afraid if that's true that I'm finished reading cycling novels.
That night, we lounged around our home for the week long enough to turn a leisurely dinner into a rush to get back to the train station to meet another reveler/traveler/our conversational sherpa. I ended up alone in the restaurant waiting for l'addition (the check) and alternately trying out half-remembered French phrases on my self and straining to hear the couple speaking at the nearest table. I may have napped too long today because as the clock rolled past bedtime, I got my second wind.
The first few days of the trip were spent in full travel mode. I took those jet-lag pills, but I'm either too tired to notice them working or they didn't work. There was a trans-Atlantic flight to London. I actually did some sleeping since the entertainment system was on the fritz. In Heathrow, we hit up the yotel (probably pronounced like hotel, but I preferred the pronunciation that more closely mirrored the high pitched singing in the Alps). The yotel was the comforts of a cruise ship on dry land bathed in purple light. We were packed in like a can of those smelly fishes. As far as hotels connected to an airport go, the yotel is definitely the best (and only) one I've ever stayed in. From London, we flew to Barcelona. I have no idea what happened in Barcelona except that I vaguely recall some dinner, a hostel, a walk, and some attempts at Spanish that went nowhere. There was an Amazing Race-style event that C and I attempted at her urging. Somehow my train got walloped by her bus. I have to wonder if it was rigged.
To add to the international intrigue, my pocket was very nearly picked on the public transit system. Fortunately, I felt the shady fellow trying and failing to scratch my passport out of my pocket. It was pretty awkward and unnerving, but a good wake-up call.
Then came a new day with a lost lens cap and a train ride from Barcelona to Arles, France. I think the train ride in Norway spoiled me. There were some nice moments where green rolling hills dotted with country houses and towns were part of the vast landscape in front of the snow-capped Pyrenees, but there were also a fair number of industrial buildings with graffiti on their backsides. I mostly took to reading "The Yellow Jersey". The cover calls it the greatest cycling novel ever written. I'm afraid if that's true that I'm finished reading cycling novels.
That night, we lounged around our home for the week long enough to turn a leisurely dinner into a rush to get back to the train station to meet another reveler/traveler/our conversational sherpa. I ended up alone in the restaurant waiting for l'addition (the check) and alternately trying out half-remembered French phrases on my self and straining to hear the couple speaking at the nearest table. I may have napped too long today because as the clock rolled past bedtime, I got my second wind.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Shamrockin'
Thanks to public transportation, I was early to the St. Patrick's Day 8k. The city was relatively quiet and grey thanks to possible rain and the lost hour of daylight savings time. I considered a number of warm-up options, but finally settled on walking the course in reverse for a while and then starting my run in that direction before turning around to warm-up on the last mile to focus my finish. It was a perfect temperature for running, a bit cold for standing around, but just warm enough for the single layer during the race. I wasn't very nervous. I had a few flashes of pre-race jitters and I had to slow my warm-up down, but for the most part I was calm like Pennsylvania Avenue on this Sunday morning.
The race had a team element, like the 10k in December. Many participants from that group returned and we added in some new legs. We'd gone from Team Shiver to Shiver Me Shamrocks, ShiMeSham for short. People seemed genuinely excited to be together. I had trouble focusing on both racing and socializing, but I managed. MB helped me coax the team into a warm-up. I had us go through a similar route including the little out and back down 10th street that extended the finish just a bit. It was a strategic warm-up, but we didn't communicate it well enough and so still left a few people surprised.
The starting line was packed with green-clad runners. We stood and chatted as we waited for "Go". I again had trouble focusing on the race and the chatter, but found something soothing about being around so many familiar smiles. We were a ways back in the pack again, but it felt right, like we should stay with the team rather than forcing them out of their comfort zone or splitting apart.
Go. We went, slowly at first, weaving our way through green human traffic. There were four of us together who had similar goals. AS was the wild card, younger and faster than the rest of us, but he fell in with us for the early part of the race. MB, PJ, and I all had designs of running 5:50 miles and holding that over 8k. PJ moved first and we dodged and weaved trying to follow. He seemed to be moving fast and I worried that my pacing was poor or I wasn't having a good day. I had to let him go a little bit and found that I wasn't moving as well as I'd thought. I had a first mile split of 5:57. I was in a little hole, but I figured it was as much the slow start as anything. After we climbed the hill near Columbus Circle and turned back, the four of us began to bunch. MB and I traded the lead a few times while still passing people at a good clip. The advantage of starting back is that passing people goes on for long stretches. We chewed through another 9 minutes that I barely noticed or remembered. I didn't see a two mile marker or much else. Only the sounds of a few clapping hands and the light thunder of hundreds of shuffling feet remain in my memory. AS silently made a move. He looked silky smooth and was made smoother by my awareness of MB's labored breathing. I looked over at MB and offered up an encouraging word as I strode after AS. I crossed the 5k mark at 17:56 (18:03 by the officials). I tried to do calculations in my head, but had to settle for a general awareness that I was nearly on schedule and maybe a bit ahead. I was still near AS; MB and PJ weren't far behind. As we approached the four mile mark, AS began to pull away. I offered up some encouragement and lost a few steps, grabbed a drink and lost a few more. AS was out of reach with less than a mile to go.
In the territory I'd warmed up in, I looked at the 23:04 on my watch and called on the couple of mile-repeat workouts I had done. I knew I needed to run as I'd finished those, preferably in the low 5:40s and definitely under 6 minutes. I made my move, which after looking at some time charts, seems to mean I didn't slow down. We made the turn on 10th and I looked back to see MB gaining. After being unable to hang with him in the 10k, I really wanted to edge him out in the 8k. He propelled me forward. My other goal was trying to track down all the green. I wanted to beat everyone in that hue. I may not have succeeded, but I came very close. I chased a guy in a Clark jersey, but I couldn't quite catch him and finished in 28:41.
I pause from the narrative for a moment to try to determine how that could be. My original goal had been 29:30, just a few seconds per mile faster than my 10k time. My adjusted goal had become 29 to 29:10, about 10 seconds per mile faster. Here I was at nearly 13 seconds faster per mile. I believe there were a number of contributing factors, both the workouts of mile repeats and the presence of AS as well as the team, the temperature, and general success with my new eating plan and the use of an energy gel before the race to fight off hunger. Based on various race time calculators from the 10k, I should have run about 29 minutes*. I like to think it was more than just a good day.
Back in the race, MB came in ten seconds later and PJ soon after. We cheered on the others and returned to our chatting. I was pleased with the race and the results. We thought that third place as a team was a possibility after our fourth place finish in December. The decision to stay for the awards was made and it turned out to be a good one. Not only did we win prizes in the raffle, but we also picked up three age division awards; I snagged second (Update: Now third, apparently they lost somebody) in the 30-34 category (after removing the four who were in the top ten, so really I was sixth). That meant a gift certificate and a new green shirt! The winning wasn't over though, as they announced the team victor and that team was Shiver Me Shamrocks. Jubilation ensued. Our top four (including at least one of the other gender, our captain SM) averaged 30:06. The second place team averaged 30:45. We were in very good shape and quite pleased. We gladly accepted the trophy and vowed to take to the streets again.
*I've never used a calculator like this for anything but curiosity, but based on my times for various events last year the thing matches up well. Only that mile really throws it off. This 8k is a little off too. Maybe good things are coming.
Thanks to public transportation, I was early to the St. Patrick's Day 8k. The city was relatively quiet and grey thanks to possible rain and the lost hour of daylight savings time. I considered a number of warm-up options, but finally settled on walking the course in reverse for a while and then starting my run in that direction before turning around to warm-up on the last mile to focus my finish. It was a perfect temperature for running, a bit cold for standing around, but just warm enough for the single layer during the race. I wasn't very nervous. I had a few flashes of pre-race jitters and I had to slow my warm-up down, but for the most part I was calm like Pennsylvania Avenue on this Sunday morning.
The race had a team element, like the 10k in December. Many participants from that group returned and we added in some new legs. We'd gone from Team Shiver to Shiver Me Shamrocks, ShiMeSham for short. People seemed genuinely excited to be together. I had trouble focusing on both racing and socializing, but I managed. MB helped me coax the team into a warm-up. I had us go through a similar route including the little out and back down 10th street that extended the finish just a bit. It was a strategic warm-up, but we didn't communicate it well enough and so still left a few people surprised.
The starting line was packed with green-clad runners. We stood and chatted as we waited for "Go". I again had trouble focusing on the race and the chatter, but found something soothing about being around so many familiar smiles. We were a ways back in the pack again, but it felt right, like we should stay with the team rather than forcing them out of their comfort zone or splitting apart.
Go. We went, slowly at first, weaving our way through green human traffic. There were four of us together who had similar goals. AS was the wild card, younger and faster than the rest of us, but he fell in with us for the early part of the race. MB, PJ, and I all had designs of running 5:50 miles and holding that over 8k. PJ moved first and we dodged and weaved trying to follow. He seemed to be moving fast and I worried that my pacing was poor or I wasn't having a good day. I had to let him go a little bit and found that I wasn't moving as well as I'd thought. I had a first mile split of 5:57. I was in a little hole, but I figured it was as much the slow start as anything. After we climbed the hill near Columbus Circle and turned back, the four of us began to bunch. MB and I traded the lead a few times while still passing people at a good clip. The advantage of starting back is that passing people goes on for long stretches. We chewed through another 9 minutes that I barely noticed or remembered. I didn't see a two mile marker or much else. Only the sounds of a few clapping hands and the light thunder of hundreds of shuffling feet remain in my memory. AS silently made a move. He looked silky smooth and was made smoother by my awareness of MB's labored breathing. I looked over at MB and offered up an encouraging word as I strode after AS. I crossed the 5k mark at 17:56 (18:03 by the officials). I tried to do calculations in my head, but had to settle for a general awareness that I was nearly on schedule and maybe a bit ahead. I was still near AS; MB and PJ weren't far behind. As we approached the four mile mark, AS began to pull away. I offered up some encouragement and lost a few steps, grabbed a drink and lost a few more. AS was out of reach with less than a mile to go.
In the territory I'd warmed up in, I looked at the 23:04 on my watch and called on the couple of mile-repeat workouts I had done. I knew I needed to run as I'd finished those, preferably in the low 5:40s and definitely under 6 minutes. I made my move, which after looking at some time charts, seems to mean I didn't slow down. We made the turn on 10th and I looked back to see MB gaining. After being unable to hang with him in the 10k, I really wanted to edge him out in the 8k. He propelled me forward. My other goal was trying to track down all the green. I wanted to beat everyone in that hue. I may not have succeeded, but I came very close. I chased a guy in a Clark jersey, but I couldn't quite catch him and finished in 28:41.
I pause from the narrative for a moment to try to determine how that could be. My original goal had been 29:30, just a few seconds per mile faster than my 10k time. My adjusted goal had become 29 to 29:10, about 10 seconds per mile faster. Here I was at nearly 13 seconds faster per mile. I believe there were a number of contributing factors, both the workouts of mile repeats and the presence of AS as well as the team, the temperature, and general success with my new eating plan and the use of an energy gel before the race to fight off hunger. Based on various race time calculators from the 10k, I should have run about 29 minutes*. I like to think it was more than just a good day.
Back in the race, MB came in ten seconds later and PJ soon after. We cheered on the others and returned to our chatting. I was pleased with the race and the results. We thought that third place as a team was a possibility after our fourth place finish in December. The decision to stay for the awards was made and it turned out to be a good one. Not only did we win prizes in the raffle, but we also picked up three age division awards; I snagged second (Update: Now third, apparently they lost somebody) in the 30-34 category (after removing the four who were in the top ten, so really I was sixth). That meant a gift certificate and a new green shirt! The winning wasn't over though, as they announced the team victor and that team was Shiver Me Shamrocks. Jubilation ensued. Our top four (including at least one of the other gender, our captain SM) averaged 30:06. The second place team averaged 30:45. We were in very good shape and quite pleased. We gladly accepted the trophy and vowed to take to the streets again.
*I've never used a calculator like this for anything but curiosity, but based on my times for various events last year the thing matches up well. Only that mile really throws it off. This 8k is a little off too. Maybe good things are coming.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
What's green and awesome?
When I was talking about moving in to a new home with new roommates there were people that said I was silly. It was time to go from one roommate to none they implied. It was time to strike out on my own and find my own way. I admire and support independence, yet, I resisted. At the time, I thought it was a general resistance to change, but now I've come to believe that I understood something about me that I couldn't verbalize.
That something: Pickle jokes.
What's green and goes slam, slam, slam, slam?
A four-door pickle.
Not pickle jokes specifically, but the joy that comes from having someone there to laugh at pickle jokes. So much of day to day life ends up being about separation. Everybody has their own screen to watch their own shows or do their own work. In this big city, we pass by people without greeting because the greetings become too numerous or an invitation to unwanted attention. Even in a full world, community can be as hard to come by as parking.
Roommates are community. They'll sing commercial jingles on request. They'll make up religions or talk in the slow drawl of an unfamiliar America. They do this because time and triumph has accumulated. At first, it may have been a shared support of a team on Amazing Race or a book review. Then came the snow that wouldn't stop and then the Winter Olympics and Apolo Ohno-related screaming. It was trying new things in the kitchen- beef wellington, chopping the frickin' garlic, or the infamous melk turt through a straw. The victories would not win wars, the setbacks did not crush souls, and always their paths crossed unloading the dishwasher, watching TV, or calling it a night. Chatter turned to conversation; conversation turned to silliness; silliness turned serious; serious turned to reality. Television. And regular old reality. Still they were there. Floating in the brine of a three story town house, co-existing at unusual angles with too many futons.
What is green and awesome? Pickles. Roommates.
When I was talking about moving in to a new home with new roommates there were people that said I was silly. It was time to go from one roommate to none they implied. It was time to strike out on my own and find my own way. I admire and support independence, yet, I resisted. At the time, I thought it was a general resistance to change, but now I've come to believe that I understood something about me that I couldn't verbalize.
That something: Pickle jokes.
What's green and goes slam, slam, slam, slam?
A four-door pickle.
Not pickle jokes specifically, but the joy that comes from having someone there to laugh at pickle jokes. So much of day to day life ends up being about separation. Everybody has their own screen to watch their own shows or do their own work. In this big city, we pass by people without greeting because the greetings become too numerous or an invitation to unwanted attention. Even in a full world, community can be as hard to come by as parking.
Roommates are community. They'll sing commercial jingles on request. They'll make up religions or talk in the slow drawl of an unfamiliar America. They do this because time and triumph has accumulated. At first, it may have been a shared support of a team on Amazing Race or a book review. Then came the snow that wouldn't stop and then the Winter Olympics and Apolo Ohno-related screaming. It was trying new things in the kitchen- beef wellington, chopping the frickin' garlic, or the infamous melk turt through a straw. The victories would not win wars, the setbacks did not crush souls, and always their paths crossed unloading the dishwasher, watching TV, or calling it a night. Chatter turned to conversation; conversation turned to silliness; silliness turned serious; serious turned to reality. Television. And regular old reality. Still they were there. Floating in the brine of a three story town house, co-existing at unusual angles with too many futons.
What is green and awesome? Pickles. Roommates.
Monday, March 01, 2010
Some days happiness is so simple
My plan worked perfectly. If I announced to people that a group would be out throwing the disc, then people were bound to show up and throw, right? I didn't actually know for sure, but I was hoping and it worked today. It was a little chilly. The wind was blowing, sometimes even gusting, but people were throwing. I didn't need to be there. For a moment I wondered if I was even welcome. Throwing becomes a lot like practice when coach shows up. It's a bit like the boss ruining happy hour. I tried to blend in and stay quiet.
The numbers dwindled. Then there were four of us. Two pairs throwing as the light broke through the clouds for a bit and shone down on the lawn to be. At first, I just threw with my partner. She's been playing Ultimate for a semester, is fast, has good defensive instincts or at least a great reaction time and really seems into the game. She was throwing up wind and struggling some. I couldn't just sit quietly by any more. I started to to try to offer some tips that might help her throw, particularly in the wind. She took them and adjusted almost immediately. The results were startling. Within half an hour, we'd easily added ten yards to her forehand and backhand. Her throws looked smoother, flatter, and like an Ultimate player's. The evolution was so fast and made me so proud. We worked a little on her footwork and she was absorbing tips like a sponge. I tried not to get too giddy, but the reason that I keep showing up washed over me as the sun ducked back behind the clouds. Helping somebody get better at something is an awesome feeling. I don't know that I could have such an immediate impact on others, but I wonder if I need to find time for more individual attention for everyone. It might be worth it. Today, it was worth it many times over.
My plan worked perfectly. If I announced to people that a group would be out throwing the disc, then people were bound to show up and throw, right? I didn't actually know for sure, but I was hoping and it worked today. It was a little chilly. The wind was blowing, sometimes even gusting, but people were throwing. I didn't need to be there. For a moment I wondered if I was even welcome. Throwing becomes a lot like practice when coach shows up. It's a bit like the boss ruining happy hour. I tried to blend in and stay quiet.
The numbers dwindled. Then there were four of us. Two pairs throwing as the light broke through the clouds for a bit and shone down on the lawn to be. At first, I just threw with my partner. She's been playing Ultimate for a semester, is fast, has good defensive instincts or at least a great reaction time and really seems into the game. She was throwing up wind and struggling some. I couldn't just sit quietly by any more. I started to to try to offer some tips that might help her throw, particularly in the wind. She took them and adjusted almost immediately. The results were startling. Within half an hour, we'd easily added ten yards to her forehand and backhand. Her throws looked smoother, flatter, and like an Ultimate player's. The evolution was so fast and made me so proud. We worked a little on her footwork and she was absorbing tips like a sponge. I tried not to get too giddy, but the reason that I keep showing up washed over me as the sun ducked back behind the clouds. Helping somebody get better at something is an awesome feeling. I don't know that I could have such an immediate impact on others, but I wonder if I need to find time for more individual attention for everyone. It might be worth it. Today, it was worth it many times over.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Animal, vegetable, protein powder
My new nutrition plan, my new culinary exploration, my new grocery shopping on the edges of the store, my new eating experiment near the month mark. In some ways it is coming easier. I turned out a meatloaf-like meal last night without a second thought. I continue to use items that I'd never even heard of before in large quantities. Flax meal is like candy. Egg whites are liquid candy. Man, I like candy.
I dig what I'm eating. I feel good about the meals I'm making. They taste right and healthy. I feel good and strong. I'm working at it, sometimes multiple hours an evening. I know there is room for improvement, but I sense that the fruits, the vegetables, and the real stuffs that I ingest are way better than my previous canned existence. I'd like to explain this feeling in grand terms, but I am unable. Just last month, I continued to feel like what I was cramming in my mouth was wrong. It was sustaining me. It was filling me up. I just felt like I needed to do better. I don't know where that sense came from, but it was repetitive and gnawed at me. Now, better is what I'm eating. I've found it and that's awesome. I've had to go out of my comfort zone to do it. It has taken planning. It has taken a bigger chunk from my wallet. It has taken blending, chopping, slicing, and some humility as I've had to admit that I don't really know my way around the kitchen at all.
Globally, internally, it feels good. This inner glow breaks down in two important ways. First, I get really hungry. There's no way I'm not getting the calories I need, but I still crave food. I'm eating more meals, more complete meals than ever before and hunger still strikes like a baseball bat to the back of the knees. I think hunger is more mental than I'd previously realized. That hasn't helped me control it yet, but I'm going to start working on it. The second breakdown is with sugar. When I eat sweets, I lose my mind. Sugar tastes like magic. It makes my tastebuds do the triple jump and follow that up with a hundred meter dash. I want to grab handfuls of it and rub it languidly in my beard like I'm in a sugar shampoo commercial.
Those feelings are really hard to control. For now, I'll continue to sugar shampoo and host track meets in my mouth, but I hope to master these feelings and the hunger soon. If I can do that and sustain my momentum, I will be doing well in the next month.
My new nutrition plan, my new culinary exploration, my new grocery shopping on the edges of the store, my new eating experiment near the month mark. In some ways it is coming easier. I turned out a meatloaf-like meal last night without a second thought. I continue to use items that I'd never even heard of before in large quantities. Flax meal is like candy. Egg whites are liquid candy. Man, I like candy.
I dig what I'm eating. I feel good about the meals I'm making. They taste right and healthy. I feel good and strong. I'm working at it, sometimes multiple hours an evening. I know there is room for improvement, but I sense that the fruits, the vegetables, and the real stuffs that I ingest are way better than my previous canned existence. I'd like to explain this feeling in grand terms, but I am unable. Just last month, I continued to feel like what I was cramming in my mouth was wrong. It was sustaining me. It was filling me up. I just felt like I needed to do better. I don't know where that sense came from, but it was repetitive and gnawed at me. Now, better is what I'm eating. I've found it and that's awesome. I've had to go out of my comfort zone to do it. It has taken planning. It has taken a bigger chunk from my wallet. It has taken blending, chopping, slicing, and some humility as I've had to admit that I don't really know my way around the kitchen at all.
Globally, internally, it feels good. This inner glow breaks down in two important ways. First, I get really hungry. There's no way I'm not getting the calories I need, but I still crave food. I'm eating more meals, more complete meals than ever before and hunger still strikes like a baseball bat to the back of the knees. I think hunger is more mental than I'd previously realized. That hasn't helped me control it yet, but I'm going to start working on it. The second breakdown is with sugar. When I eat sweets, I lose my mind. Sugar tastes like magic. It makes my tastebuds do the triple jump and follow that up with a hundred meter dash. I want to grab handfuls of it and rub it languidly in my beard like I'm in a sugar shampoo commercial.
Those feelings are really hard to control. For now, I'll continue to sugar shampoo and host track meets in my mouth, but I hope to master these feelings and the hunger soon. If I can do that and sustain my momentum, I will be doing well in the next month.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
The last two top ten lists
I've been putting this off, but I think it's time to finish what I've started. The first of the last top ten lists is a dedication from Nerds vs. Dorks which I'm grateful for because I am struggling mightily.
The final top ten list is a list of career moments/events in the last decade. I've had this list since the beginning, but I'm a little reluctant to admit that I have a job, let alone a career.
10. Extending my temp job
9. Allocation
8. Having an office built around me
7. Working as a ski lift operator
6. The PM revision
5. Surviving
4. Getting hired
3. Helping people help people
2. Getting a promotion
1. Getting vested
That's it. We're moving on to the next decade.
I've been putting this off, but I think it's time to finish what I've started. The first of the last top ten lists is a dedication from Nerds vs. Dorks which I'm grateful for because I am struggling mightily.
The final top ten list is a list of career moments/events in the last decade. I've had this list since the beginning, but I'm a little reluctant to admit that I have a job, let alone a career.
10. Extending my temp job
9. Allocation
8. Having an office built around me
7. Working as a ski lift operator
6. The PM revision
5. Surviving
4. Getting hired
3. Helping people help people
2. Getting a promotion
1. Getting vested
That's it. We're moving on to the next decade.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
A list of things I've done today
I haven't been to work in 3.5 days. The list of things I'm doing to occupy my time has started to get more interesting. I have
-re-threaded a drawstring in a pair of shorts using a safety pin, but not very effectively.
-sewn on a button.
-made my own hummus.
-cooked chicken.
-made a blueberry protein shake for now and one for later.
-made (poured maple syrup on) sugar on snow.
-made quinoa.
-shopped for a camera.
-watched the final episodes of the mini-series Tin Man starring Zooey Deschanel.
-shoveled snow.
-washed dishes.
-written a blog post and a list (in progress).
It's not even 6; the garlic in the hummus is stinging the upper part of my mouth, there's a book of short stories calling my name (rather softly), a workout, and high winds still to come.
I haven't been to work in 3.5 days. The list of things I'm doing to occupy my time has started to get more interesting. I have
-re-threaded a drawstring in a pair of shorts using a safety pin, but not very effectively.
-sewn on a button.
-made my own hummus.
-cooked chicken.
-made a blueberry protein shake for now and one for later.
-made (poured maple syrup on) sugar on snow.
-made quinoa.
-shopped for a camera.
-watched the final episodes of the mini-series Tin Man starring Zooey Deschanel.
-shoveled snow.
-washed dishes.
-written a blog post and a list (in progress).
It's not even 6; the garlic in the hummus is stinging the upper part of my mouth, there's a book of short stories calling my name (rather softly), a workout, and high winds still to come.
and I feel fine
There's a low constant hum that covers multiple city blocks. It's like a heater struggling to start, or a snow-blower running low on fuel. The euphoria of Saturday when snowball fights reigned and passing neighbors smiled in amusement has been replaced by a white-grey dread. People no longer bound out of doors and down the middle of the street bending to form a snowball or a ready-made sno-cone. Now they trudge. They've bundled a little tighter. The bright colors of winter wear seem a little muted. Playing in 20 inches of snow with the hope of missing work dancing on the falling flakes is replaced by shoveling 10 more inches with the flakes flying horizontally. The weather and the city's accompanying emotion have gone from Lady Ga-Ga inspired party dress to the long walk of shame home. That walk seems to grow longer with each hour. The questions of where will we put the snow? and what do you mean the snow plows have stopped due to dangerous conditions? don't seem to be real. How can they be?
We still have power. Others have lost theirs. At the risk of being too dramatic, I can't help but wonder how fragile we are. I can't help but think about global warming either. Could this be a harbinger of things to come?
I read the newspaper stories about young neighbors taking care of their older neighbors and I talk to my friends who have shoveled driveways and pushed cars out of snow drifts. The spirit of community rises in these situations. Could this too be a harbinger of things to come? It seems just as likely.
There's a low constant hum that covers multiple city blocks. It's like a heater struggling to start, or a snow-blower running low on fuel. The euphoria of Saturday when snowball fights reigned and passing neighbors smiled in amusement has been replaced by a white-grey dread. People no longer bound out of doors and down the middle of the street bending to form a snowball or a ready-made sno-cone. Now they trudge. They've bundled a little tighter. The bright colors of winter wear seem a little muted. Playing in 20 inches of snow with the hope of missing work dancing on the falling flakes is replaced by shoveling 10 more inches with the flakes flying horizontally. The weather and the city's accompanying emotion have gone from Lady Ga-Ga inspired party dress to the long walk of shame home. That walk seems to grow longer with each hour. The questions of where will we put the snow? and what do you mean the snow plows have stopped due to dangerous conditions? don't seem to be real. How can they be?
We still have power. Others have lost theirs. At the risk of being too dramatic, I can't help but wonder how fragile we are. I can't help but think about global warming either. Could this be a harbinger of things to come?
I read the newspaper stories about young neighbors taking care of their older neighbors and I talk to my friends who have shoveled driveways and pushed cars out of snow drifts. The spirit of community rises in these situations. Could this too be a harbinger of things to come? It seems just as likely.
Monday, February 08, 2010
Super Bowl commercials
Once again I'm late to the Super Bowl commercial reviewing party. Heck, John was reviewing them live. I've read a few reviews, given it some thought and decided only a few are even worth mentioning. I may be getting old and crusty, but this year's crop of commercials was pretty sad. The jokes weren't funny. The sex wasn't sexy. The animals were kind of weird and the babies were a bunch of milkaholics. What gives? Further, why did so many ads with similar themes/gimmicks air together? Bad luck?
-The Tim Tebow ad was nothing. This commercial has defeated us because it entered the conversation long before it aired. I bet 75% of the audience would have missed it had we not heard about it for a week. Too bad, so sad. public relations-1, personal politics- 0.
-The Google ad was quaint, quiet, engaging, interesting and darn good. Google is verb. Google is life.
-My favorite commercial was the Kia Sorento ad. I haven't seen this ad on any of the lists. Dude. This ad had a sock monkey on a jet-ski. It had a robot doing the robot on the dance floor. It had the toys in a slow-motion Reservoir Dogs walk. If toys think the Kia Sorento is cool, then it must be cool.
Wait. Am I being sarcastic? Yes, but I still really liked the ad.
Doritos? Bud Light? The Hangover on wheels with a whale? Whatever. Until $2.5 million brings us together again next year...
Once again I'm late to the Super Bowl commercial reviewing party. Heck, John was reviewing them live. I've read a few reviews, given it some thought and decided only a few are even worth mentioning. I may be getting old and crusty, but this year's crop of commercials was pretty sad. The jokes weren't funny. The sex wasn't sexy. The animals were kind of weird and the babies were a bunch of milkaholics. What gives? Further, why did so many ads with similar themes/gimmicks air together? Bad luck?
-The Tim Tebow ad was nothing. This commercial has defeated us because it entered the conversation long before it aired. I bet 75% of the audience would have missed it had we not heard about it for a week. Too bad, so sad. public relations-1, personal politics- 0.
-The Google ad was quaint, quiet, engaging, interesting and darn good. Google is verb. Google is life.
-My favorite commercial was the Kia Sorento ad. I haven't seen this ad on any of the lists. Dude. This ad had a sock monkey on a jet-ski. It had a robot doing the robot on the dance floor. It had the toys in a slow-motion Reservoir Dogs walk. If toys think the Kia Sorento is cool, then it must be cool.
Wait. Am I being sarcastic? Yes, but I still really liked the ad.
Doritos? Bud Light? The Hangover on wheels with a whale? Whatever. Until $2.5 million brings us together again next year...
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
6 more weeks of winter
I'm lucky to be alive. I've taken up a nutrition plan and therefore cooking that involves more than a can and a skillet. This is all well and good and time consuming, but it means that I'm putting knives to use like never before. I am not properly trained in knives. In the last 10 days this has not been more evident than while attacking an avocado last night. Compounded by my lack of patience to achieve the proper soft ripened green mass, I recklessly attacked a poor avocado. The thing about an unripe avocado is that it is far from defenseless. What it lacks in technical ability it more than makes up for in hardness. I peeled and I poked. I sliced and I chopped in a near fruitless effort, all the while narrowly avoiding slicing, dicing, and generally ginsu-ing my own fingers down to the bone or perhaps beyond. Today at work I touched skin that had obviously been cut, but hadn't bled.
After a long struggle with an avocado and the laughs of my flatmates, I finally gave in and tossed my guacamole to be in the blender. It chopped most into a fine green mess, but some avocado chunk remained. The recipe did say to leave some chunks for texture. What says texture like 1/4 of an avocado uncut by the spinning blade of a blender?
More kitchen adventures to come.
I'm lucky to be alive. I've taken up a nutrition plan and therefore cooking that involves more than a can and a skillet. This is all well and good and time consuming, but it means that I'm putting knives to use like never before. I am not properly trained in knives. In the last 10 days this has not been more evident than while attacking an avocado last night. Compounded by my lack of patience to achieve the proper soft ripened green mass, I recklessly attacked a poor avocado. The thing about an unripe avocado is that it is far from defenseless. What it lacks in technical ability it more than makes up for in hardness. I peeled and I poked. I sliced and I chopped in a near fruitless effort, all the while narrowly avoiding slicing, dicing, and generally ginsu-ing my own fingers down to the bone or perhaps beyond. Today at work I touched skin that had obviously been cut, but hadn't bled.
After a long struggle with an avocado and the laughs of my flatmates, I finally gave in and tossed my guacamole to be in the blender. It chopped most into a fine green mess, but some avocado chunk remained. The recipe did say to leave some chunks for texture. What says texture like 1/4 of an avocado uncut by the spinning blade of a blender?
More kitchen adventures to come.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Trying on a different life
I'm listening to somebody else's records in somebody else's home. Somebody else isn't here, but I'm settling in. I went to the books first and scanned the shelves. I looked for the books I'd read and the books I want to read. I looked for a connection to my interests, then I looked for a pattern. My efforts were not so concentrated as they sound, but as I scanned the shelves I tried to put together this person that I didn't know. How was she like me? She had "Men are from Mars.." How was she different? Dorothy Parker, financial success for women, feminism, I soon lost track. This was not my literary double. With my head tilted, I then scanned the titles for books that I wanted to skim. I found "Why Men Love Bitches."
I switched from Zeppelin to Supertramp.
At first the records seem more accessible than the books. Perhaps, this is a function of their weight and the commitment they require. Why Men Love Records? Unable to focus, I moved to the DVD collection, but found nothing that I needed now, certainly not "Bridget Jones' Diary". v. much no, thank you.
Supertramp turns to Bruce Springsteen.
I made another lap around the house, arms tucked behind me like a speed skater, though my walk and my eye were more like those of the art student. I studied the pictures and paintings, the candles and saucers on the mantle, the clutter of existence. Every object told a piece of story I didn't know. One wall hanging held my eye. The top was a vibrant red hand print on a black background. On an Indian tablet below the precise lettering of an elementary school student proudly proclaimed the recess skills that every child wanted. The confidence of the young student echoed in the confidence of the thick wooden frame.
Springsteen became Aretha Franklin.
I returned to the records and pored over them. I feel like a man lost in another time. I have nostalgia for a life I haven't led. My studies again follow a similar trajectory as I look for the intersection of familiar and interesting. The familiar are less widespread when I realize that my reference point for record collections is my parents'. A few records overlap, but much of this collection veers closer to the days of CD, or at least cassette tape. I begin to pull records from the shelf. The other records close the gap and I lose track of the exact location. I'll slide the sleeves back in as best I can and hope my host is not like Rob of "High Fidelity" organizing and re-organizing the collection by major life events.
I open the sleeve and pour the black grooved disc out. It feels so delicate. The delicacy is compounded by the fear of damaging someone else's property. Has age made records more brittle? I suspect they've always been brittle and delicate, that's why my dad severely limited my handling privileges. Holding my breath, I move the needle without shaking or scratching. The record spins on and then crackles to a start. There's something violent and satisfying about starting a record and finding a groove.
Then it stops.
More Aretha.
I'm listening to somebody else's records in somebody else's home. Somebody else isn't here, but I'm settling in. I went to the books first and scanned the shelves. I looked for the books I'd read and the books I want to read. I looked for a connection to my interests, then I looked for a pattern. My efforts were not so concentrated as they sound, but as I scanned the shelves I tried to put together this person that I didn't know. How was she like me? She had "Men are from Mars.." How was she different? Dorothy Parker, financial success for women, feminism, I soon lost track. This was not my literary double. With my head tilted, I then scanned the titles for books that I wanted to skim. I found "Why Men Love Bitches."
I switched from Zeppelin to Supertramp.
At first the records seem more accessible than the books. Perhaps, this is a function of their weight and the commitment they require. Why Men Love Records? Unable to focus, I moved to the DVD collection, but found nothing that I needed now, certainly not "Bridget Jones' Diary". v. much no, thank you.
Supertramp turns to Bruce Springsteen.
I made another lap around the house, arms tucked behind me like a speed skater, though my walk and my eye were more like those of the art student. I studied the pictures and paintings, the candles and saucers on the mantle, the clutter of existence. Every object told a piece of story I didn't know. One wall hanging held my eye. The top was a vibrant red hand print on a black background. On an Indian tablet below the precise lettering of an elementary school student proudly proclaimed the recess skills that every child wanted. The confidence of the young student echoed in the confidence of the thick wooden frame.
Springsteen became Aretha Franklin.
I returned to the records and pored over them. I feel like a man lost in another time. I have nostalgia for a life I haven't led. My studies again follow a similar trajectory as I look for the intersection of familiar and interesting. The familiar are less widespread when I realize that my reference point for record collections is my parents'. A few records overlap, but much of this collection veers closer to the days of CD, or at least cassette tape. I begin to pull records from the shelf. The other records close the gap and I lose track of the exact location. I'll slide the sleeves back in as best I can and hope my host is not like Rob of "High Fidelity" organizing and re-organizing the collection by major life events.
I open the sleeve and pour the black grooved disc out. It feels so delicate. The delicacy is compounded by the fear of damaging someone else's property. Has age made records more brittle? I suspect they've always been brittle and delicate, that's why my dad severely limited my handling privileges. Holding my breath, I move the needle without shaking or scratching. The record spins on and then crackles to a start. There's something violent and satisfying about starting a record and finding a groove.
Then it stops.
More Aretha.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
A bit of catching up, sans the final top tens
The time between 12/31/09 and 1/1/10
Escorted like the privileged class, dining on cupcakes, and sipping champagne, we waited on the eleventh floor for the ball to drop. We were a party of seven pressed against the windows. Parties of more or fewer calmly raged to the right and to the left and in the conference room and down below. The famous ball of the square of time that marks the passage of another Seacrest/Clark moment was but a nose-press and a glance away. When the countdown came and the fireworks spewed in our general direction and then right at us, the ball began its descending wave to nine before disappearing in a cloud of ten. Saliva was exchanged in a passionate plea to the universe to improve. Ten could make us better and brighter, but for now only the remnants of lip balm and its oddly shaped headgear advertising remained.
The bag tax
My fair city has passed a law. I'm sure they do this all the time, like it's their job. This law is different. This law has had an immediate positive impact on my day to day life. Washington DC has made plastic bags five cents. Some folks are flipping out. The paper detailed the story of a woman who drives to a state next door (where they pay a higher food tax) to avoid the fee. It makes no sense. I've been known to make no sense, but this time, I'm relishing the bag tax. It encourages behavior that I support in a way that isn't completely prohibitive. The best part, however, was the immediate culture shift of my grocery store checkers. Instead of immediately cramming my food into a plastic bag, they now turn to me to ask if I have bags or if I'm willing to pay the five cents. I am no longer stuck stuttering with my re-usable bag in my hand while a checker buries my food in plastic.
There are challenges. I don't usually have my bag when I go for lunch time take-out. The produce bags are five cents. I try to get by without them and I wonder if there is a suitable alternative. The morning paper (as if there was an evening one anymore?) comes in a bag adding a cost to an industry that could probably do without losing its last eight subscribers. I'm ok with all of this. Grocers are reporting bag use has been cut in half. The five cents on that half go toward cleaning up the muck in the Anacostia River. I'm lovin' it.
Lost in the aisles
While I'm thinking of the market, I should mention my most recent shopping experience. I'm working to improve my nutrition and I've found a plan that seems pretty reasonable, though not without its bumps in the road. My first challenge was grocery shopping. I took the pre-made list to the store and quickly realized that I couldn't find anything. I was cruising the outside of the store rather than the processed food haven I've come to count on. Life outside of the can is far different. I wandered wide-eyed and bordering on frantic as I searched and found quinoa, but failed to find steel cut oats or oat bran. I spent more time buying fruit and vegetables than I usually spend at the store. I won't even begin to discuss the challenges I've faced in the kitchen.
That'll have to do for now. I still want to write, but I find that I want to do a lot lately.
The time between 12/31/09 and 1/1/10
Escorted like the privileged class, dining on cupcakes, and sipping champagne, we waited on the eleventh floor for the ball to drop. We were a party of seven pressed against the windows. Parties of more or fewer calmly raged to the right and to the left and in the conference room and down below. The famous ball of the square of time that marks the passage of another Seacrest/Clark moment was but a nose-press and a glance away. When the countdown came and the fireworks spewed in our general direction and then right at us, the ball began its descending wave to nine before disappearing in a cloud of ten. Saliva was exchanged in a passionate plea to the universe to improve. Ten could make us better and brighter, but for now only the remnants of lip balm and its oddly shaped headgear advertising remained.
The bag tax
My fair city has passed a law. I'm sure they do this all the time, like it's their job. This law is different. This law has had an immediate positive impact on my day to day life. Washington DC has made plastic bags five cents. Some folks are flipping out. The paper detailed the story of a woman who drives to a state next door (where they pay a higher food tax) to avoid the fee. It makes no sense. I've been known to make no sense, but this time, I'm relishing the bag tax. It encourages behavior that I support in a way that isn't completely prohibitive. The best part, however, was the immediate culture shift of my grocery store checkers. Instead of immediately cramming my food into a plastic bag, they now turn to me to ask if I have bags or if I'm willing to pay the five cents. I am no longer stuck stuttering with my re-usable bag in my hand while a checker buries my food in plastic.
There are challenges. I don't usually have my bag when I go for lunch time take-out. The produce bags are five cents. I try to get by without them and I wonder if there is a suitable alternative. The morning paper (as if there was an evening one anymore?) comes in a bag adding a cost to an industry that could probably do without losing its last eight subscribers. I'm ok with all of this. Grocers are reporting bag use has been cut in half. The five cents on that half go toward cleaning up the muck in the Anacostia River. I'm lovin' it.
Lost in the aisles
While I'm thinking of the market, I should mention my most recent shopping experience. I'm working to improve my nutrition and I've found a plan that seems pretty reasonable, though not without its bumps in the road. My first challenge was grocery shopping. I took the pre-made list to the store and quickly realized that I couldn't find anything. I was cruising the outside of the store rather than the processed food haven I've come to count on. Life outside of the can is far different. I wandered wide-eyed and bordering on frantic as I searched and found quinoa, but failed to find steel cut oats or oat bran. I spent more time buying fruit and vegetables than I usually spend at the store. I won't even begin to discuss the challenges I've faced in the kitchen.
That'll have to do for now. I still want to write, but I find that I want to do a lot lately.
Sunday, January 03, 2010
Top 10 lists continued
Top 10 movies
1. Lost in Translation
2. Bend it Like Beckham
3. Lord of the Rings
4. Love Actually
5. The Notebook
6. Once
7. Walk the Line
8. Spirit of the Marathon
9. The Family Man
10. Mulholland Dr.
Top 10 (non-Ultimate) trips
10. Providence,RI
9. Boston, MA for Marathon spectating
8. San Francisco, CA
7. New Orleans, LA- first work trip
6. Door County, WI
5. Hays, KS
4. Iceland/Norway
3. Grand Canyon- hike
2. Grand Canyon- mule
1. Paris
Top 10 Ultimate trips (maybe? I'm mixing trips and tournaments here)
1. Columbia to Sectionals, Dallas, TX in an RV
2. DC to Edinboro, PA- Something Frozen, met CUA
3. Columbia to St. Louis, MO- First tournament
4. Winter Park St. Louis to Baton Rouge, LA- Mardi Gras
5. DC to Atlanta, GA (including the panic attack at Arby's)
6. KC to Fayetteville, AR- Harvest Moon
7. Winter Park to Lawrence, KS for Fool's Fest
7. Columbus to Cleveland, OH- No Surf
8. Columbus to Washington, DC- Choptank
9. DC to Boston, MA for ? Invite (which I didn't actually play in, but I was on the roster)
10. DC to Wildwood, NJ and back in many years including the Kelly Clarkson performance and the Jersey cop experience
Top 10 movies
1. Lost in Translation
2. Bend it Like Beckham
3. Lord of the Rings
4. Love Actually
5. The Notebook
6. Once
7. Walk the Line
8. Spirit of the Marathon
9. The Family Man
10. Mulholland Dr.
Top 10 (non-Ultimate) trips
10. Providence,RI
9. Boston, MA for Marathon spectating
8. San Francisco, CA
7. New Orleans, LA- first work trip
6. Door County, WI
5. Hays, KS
4. Iceland/Norway
3. Grand Canyon- hike
2. Grand Canyon- mule
1. Paris
Top 10 Ultimate trips (maybe? I'm mixing trips and tournaments here)
1. Columbia to Sectionals, Dallas, TX in an RV
2. DC to Edinboro, PA- Something Frozen, met CUA
3. Columbia to St. Louis, MO- First tournament
4. Winter Park St. Louis to Baton Rouge, LA- Mardi Gras
5. DC to Atlanta, GA (including the panic attack at Arby's)
6. KC to Fayetteville, AR- Harvest Moon
7. Winter Park to Lawrence, KS for Fool's Fest
7. Columbus to Cleveland, OH- No Surf
8. Columbus to Washington, DC- Choptank
9. DC to Boston, MA for ? Invite (which I didn't actually play in, but I was on the roster)
10. DC to Wildwood, NJ and back in many years including the Kelly Clarkson performance and the Jersey cop experience
Saturday, January 02, 2010
I'm interrupting my top 10s to bring you the straight lists from 2009.
Movies I saw in 2009
1. Run Fat boy Run
2. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
3. Tropic Thunder
4. Outsourced
5. Hamlet 2
6. The Dark Knight
7. 10 items or less
8. Cooley High
9. In Bruges
10. Brian's Song
11. Calendar Girls
12. Love and Other Disasters
13. Taken
14. Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2
15. Get Smart
16. Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist
17. Bella (sort of)
18. Coraline
19. Employee of the Month
20. The Watchmen
21. Just Friends
22. Much ado about nothing
23. Baby Mamma
24. Now we know
25. Chalk
26. National Treasure: Book of Secrets
27. Milk
28. Adventureland
29. Waiting for Guffman
30. Sweeney Todd
31. Pineapple Express
32. Happy Go Lucky
33. Frost/Nixon
34. Up
35. Ghost Town
36. The House Bunny
37. Star Trek
38. Bedtime Stories
39. WordPlay
40. The Proposal
41. Passengers
42. The Wrestler
43. Happy Accents
44. Last Chance Harvey
45. Fanboys
46. 500 Days of Summer
47. How about you
48. Henry Poole is here
49. The Time Traveler's Wife
50. Doubt
51. 17 Again
52. The Savages
53. Die Hard: Live Free or Die
54. Whip it
55. I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry
56. Valkyrie
57. Bigger, Stronger, Faster
58. Eastern Promises
59. I Love You Man
60. Defiance
61. An Education
62. The Hangover
63. Away we go
64. Up in the Air
65. Sherlock Holmes
66. The Informant
Books I read in 2009
1. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and other Jazz Age Stories (started in '08)
2. The Five Dysfunctions of Team
3. The Hand of Fate
4. Tell no one
5. I love you, Beth Cooper
6. Drop Shot
7. The Woods
8-10. 28 Barbary Lane
11. Watchmen
12. Small is Possible: Life in a local economy
13-15. Back to Barbary Lane
16. Change your questions, Change your life
17. Soul Thief
18. Blindness
19. There's no Place Like Here
20. The Road
21. The Accidental Tourist
22. Sway- The Irresistible Pull of Irrational Behavior
23. Schulz and Peanuts
24. The Last Lecture
25. Time Traveler's Wife (re-read)
26. Eavesdropping
27. Her Fearful Symmetry
28. Juliet, Naked
29. Dead Sleep
30. Possibly Strongly Opposed (online)
31. Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress
32. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
33. Micromessaging
34. Dara Torres: Age is just a number
35. The Inheritance of Loss
36. Run Fast
Movies I saw in 2009
1. Run Fat boy Run
2. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
3. Tropic Thunder
4. Outsourced
5. Hamlet 2
6. The Dark Knight
7. 10 items or less
8. Cooley High
9. In Bruges
10. Brian's Song
11. Calendar Girls
12. Love and Other Disasters
13. Taken
14. Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2
15. Get Smart
16. Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist
17. Bella (sort of)
18. Coraline
19. Employee of the Month
20. The Watchmen
21. Just Friends
22. Much ado about nothing
23. Baby Mamma
24. Now we know
25. Chalk
26. National Treasure: Book of Secrets
27. Milk
28. Adventureland
29. Waiting for Guffman
30. Sweeney Todd
31. Pineapple Express
32. Happy Go Lucky
33. Frost/Nixon
34. Up
35. Ghost Town
36. The House Bunny
37. Star Trek
38. Bedtime Stories
39. WordPlay
40. The Proposal
41. Passengers
42. The Wrestler
43. Happy Accents
44. Last Chance Harvey
45. Fanboys
46. 500 Days of Summer
47. How about you
48. Henry Poole is here
49. The Time Traveler's Wife
50. Doubt
51. 17 Again
52. The Savages
53. Die Hard: Live Free or Die
54. Whip it
55. I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry
56. Valkyrie
57. Bigger, Stronger, Faster
58. Eastern Promises
59. I Love You Man
60. Defiance
61. An Education
62. The Hangover
63. Away we go
64. Up in the Air
65. Sherlock Holmes
66. The Informant
Books I read in 2009
1. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and other Jazz Age Stories (started in '08)
2. The Five Dysfunctions of Team
3. The Hand of Fate
4. Tell no one
5. I love you, Beth Cooper
6. Drop Shot
7. The Woods
8-10. 28 Barbary Lane
11. Watchmen
12. Small is Possible: Life in a local economy
13-15. Back to Barbary Lane
16. Change your questions, Change your life
17. Soul Thief
18. Blindness
19. There's no Place Like Here
20. The Road
21. The Accidental Tourist
22. Sway- The Irresistible Pull of Irrational Behavior
23. Schulz and Peanuts
24. The Last Lecture
25. Time Traveler's Wife (re-read)
26. Eavesdropping
27. Her Fearful Symmetry
28. Juliet, Naked
29. Dead Sleep
30. Possibly Strongly Opposed (online)
31. Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress
32. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
33. Micromessaging
34. Dara Torres: Age is just a number
35. The Inheritance of Loss
36. Run Fast
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Top 10 top 10 lists from the last 10 years as we head into 2010
I'm working on 10 lists to highlight some of my experiences over the last decade. I'm afraid that some of my lists are going to be more heavily weighted to the last few years because I don't remember stuff that well. I don't have all 10 lists yet, but I'll keep at it. Some of this may spill into next year.
Top 10 books I read in the last 10 years
10. Pistol: The Story of Pete Maravich
9. Count of Monte Cristo
8. Jitterbug Perfume
7. Harry Potter (I'm just lumping them all together, but I preferred the ones with Quidditch)
6. Ender's Game
5. Interpreter of Maladies
4. Prodigal Summer
3. The Perfect Mile
2. Bel Canto
1. Time Traveler's Wife
Top 10 years of the last 10
1. 2004
2. 2009
3. 2001
4. 2005
5. 2006
6. 2008
7. 2000
8. 2003
9. 2002
10. 2007
Top 10 songs played on iTunes (This is obviously skewed to the mid to late aughts)
10. Drunken Lullabies by Flogging Molly
9. Feel Good Inc. by Gorillaz
8. Pale Moon by Shannon McNally
7. Screaming Infidelities by Dashboard Confessional
6. These Boots Are Made for Walkin' by Jessica Simpson
5. Gracie by Ben Folds
4. Age Six Racer by Dashboard Confessional
3. Half Acre by Hem
2. The Comeback by Shout Out Louds
1. 1B by Yo-yo Ma, Mark O'Connor and Edgar Meyer
Top 10 Athletic Achievements (I really feel like I'm forgetting something)
10.6k victory
9. making HOV and contributing in the early season
8. consistent weight training (165 front squat!)
7. Return to Ultimate after the year (?) of the psoas
6. The Golden Cup from Wildwood
5. Sectionals '02 game-winning Callahan
4. Pacing MB to a 5-minute mile on the first try
3.breaking 30 minutes in a 5-miler PRs including 15:46 5k, 29:36 5-miler...
2. 4:41 mile, the fastest in quite some time by bunches
1. The training and completion of the Marine Corps Marathon in '04
1a. MUtants and the Peter L. Offense Sectionals '01
Top 10 TV shows (some on DVD)
1. Gilmore Girls
2. Buffy The Vampire Slayer
3. The Office
4. Friends
5. Project Runway
6. Coupling
7. Flight of the Conchords
8. Sports Night
9. Ed
10. Alias
I'm working on 10 lists to highlight some of my experiences over the last decade. I'm afraid that some of my lists are going to be more heavily weighted to the last few years because I don't remember stuff that well. I don't have all 10 lists yet, but I'll keep at it. Some of this may spill into next year.
Top 10 books I read in the last 10 years
10. Pistol: The Story of Pete Maravich
9. Count of Monte Cristo
8. Jitterbug Perfume
7. Harry Potter (I'm just lumping them all together, but I preferred the ones with Quidditch)
6. Ender's Game
5. Interpreter of Maladies
4. Prodigal Summer
3. The Perfect Mile
2. Bel Canto
1. Time Traveler's Wife
Top 10 years of the last 10
1. 2004
2. 2009
3. 2001
4. 2005
5. 2006
6. 2008
7. 2000
8. 2003
9. 2002
10. 2007
Top 10 songs played on iTunes (This is obviously skewed to the mid to late aughts)
10. Drunken Lullabies by Flogging Molly
9. Feel Good Inc. by Gorillaz
8. Pale Moon by Shannon McNally
7. Screaming Infidelities by Dashboard Confessional
6. These Boots Are Made for Walkin' by Jessica Simpson
5. Gracie by Ben Folds
4. Age Six Racer by Dashboard Confessional
3. Half Acre by Hem
2. The Comeback by Shout Out Louds
1. 1B by Yo-yo Ma, Mark O'Connor and Edgar Meyer
Top 10 Athletic Achievements (I really feel like I'm forgetting something)
10.
9. making HOV and contributing in the early season
8. consistent weight training (165 front squat!)
7. Return to Ultimate after the year (?) of the psoas
6. The Golden Cup from Wildwood
5. Sectionals '02 game-winning Callahan
4. Pacing MB to a 5-minute mile on the first try
3.
2. 4:41 mile, the fastest in quite some time by bunches
1. The training and completion of the Marine Corps Marathon in '04
1a. MUtants and the Peter L. Offense Sectionals '01
Top 10 TV shows (some on DVD)
1. Gilmore Girls
2. Buffy The Vampire Slayer
3. The Office
4. Friends
5. Project Runway
6. Coupling
7. Flight of the Conchords
8. Sports Night
9. Ed
10. Alias
Monday, December 28, 2009
The Christmas letter you didn't get from me
Dear Friends and Family,
I am going to share with you my year in Facebook status updates. I thought it might accomplish the same thing as a good letter, but I'm really quite vague.
Love,
Dave
Oh, yeah, the updates:
January:
David is looking for the team to come together after this.
David feels his philosophy shifting.
David is going to make popsicles… on the track.
David is kind of pretty sure we can. Maybe.
David is trying to fathom 1.8 million people.
David was on the wrong side of 15-14.
February:
David cannot think of a fitting superlative for Evie’s cookies.
David feels the sting of beard-ism.
David sends bearded kisses in your general direction.
David is wondering if anybody wants to go with him to support Kyle in the 24 hour musicals?
David's favorite moment of the day was entering the darkness on the first turn of the first 400 meters.
March:
David is frisbee crush on Sam, dance crush on Anne, general crush on February 28.
David is no longer amused by the Not-so-great Depression.
David is aw yeah.
David thinks marriages shouldn't last forever just so there can be more weddings.
David really just wants more parties with families, dancing, and love, not divorce as the genie named Aaron has pointed out.
David has a theory, will never tell, and walks through the fire.
David has a lot to learn.
Whatever it is, it isn’t here.
David just asked a squirrel, "Are you ok?" after it fell out of a 25-foot tree. The squirrel didn't answer, but scurried away.
April:
David has already been fooled.
Sometimes you get what you deserve and even though you want more, you can't be too sad about that.
David is on the verge of creating a series of surveys about himself to send to his friends.
David thinks a run is in order. Wishes Borman lived up the street.
David was in second place for about three steps, fortunately they were the last three. Yeah.
David is 2nd again.
David’s legs didn’t quit, but everything else is striking on their behalf.
David has auto-tuning on his mind.
“He lives vicariously through himself”
May:
David saw two pirates making out and couldn’t resist shouting, “Pirate love!”
The rain will not deter us. It will only moisten our spirits.
If I achieve nothing else, at least I taught Tedward to dance.
The intensity got fixed but the mark got broken.
David wants to make out with this weather.
David suspended “your mom” jokes for the day. No need to thank me.
David is quietly rocking the red.
David is quietly watching the red get rocked. Ouch.
David needs Parks and Rec to go away or needs some self control. Both seem unlikely.
David is all about the slow start this weekend.
David had a dream about cleaning and is now making that a reality. Hopefully, that’s the start of a trend.
David might become a loyal customer of Southwest after all.
David wonders if overreaction might be the right reaction.
June:
David is pretty sure his hamstrings are tuned an octave too high.
David is no match for an armored King Hippo.
David blames it on the al-al-al- weather.
David hopes Betty bounced back and was glad to spend time with familiar faces.
David is warming up his weirdness. The leftovers will be slathered in BBQ sauce.
everything but the canoe
David is going for an unofficial tubing record today. The late start won't do us any favors.
dodging rain drops and responsibility.
David would rather be night-tubing.
David experienced a glitch in the Matrix.
David would like to auto-tune father's day. I'm not sure it would do anything, but it makes T-Pain and the news better, so maybe it would work for Dads.
David is alive. Thanks for asking.
David laughed and cried at "The Proposal". That's one perfectly predictable romantic comedy.
Wait? What? Michael Jackson is dead? Inconceivable. (Also, Billie Jean. Not my girl.)
David wants to shed material possessions in theory, but not in practice.
David is whaddaya know? 2nd place again (This time in my age group).
July:
David is trying to hold off a thunderstorm with just an outstretched hand.
David is in the promised land of leftovers.
David was not second, but is feeling a little fast.
David has got the beach vision, but still needs the beach attire (half of it anyway.)
David can't believe it. Turns out I was second in my age group on Friday.
David is in the peloton, but always considering a breakaway.
David wrestles with the age-old Sunday night question: watch low quality Lohan movie or do something productive?
David enjoyed downtown Fort Worth and is now headed to the land of diving in the sand!
The faux-Brits DO drink from a faux-golden cup!
David has finished his championship laundry and grocery shopping. Next up: Championship bathroom cleaning. There's nothing like glory.
David is not happy with non-confrontational double-speak. Make a decision and mean it, punks.
August:
David is watching his own every move on the Internet in a mirror. Don't raise your eyebrow at me, mirrorDave.
David is unable to handle his rock and roll lifestyle; considering something more bluegrass-y.
It takes very little to create the illusion of security: just a few pieces of wood can do it.
David has the best non-roommate ever and I'm not talking about the giant dead beetle.
the modern amateur philosopher inside of me asks, "If I cannot tweet or share my status update, do I really exist?"
David finds an increasing number of things irrelevant. Why not this thing?
As I pack the artifacts from my life into boxes I realize that the people in it have helped make it pretty awesome.
Newsflash: Usain Bolt= Fast. Wow.
David curses stuff.
“don’t stop ‘til you get enough!”
“Goodnight, Moon”
David is tempted by the prospect of a landline. Really, really tempted.
David met his adorable second cousin, ran up the side of a little mountain, watched the bright orange sunrise and is using up his adjectives in hot Arizona.
September:
David was only over Facebook when he couldn't get to it.
David ran a practice on the turf in the rain with 25 people. Did I slip into an alternate universe?
Field space is on my mind.
David is after fjords and bjork.
David wonders if he can be a fan of Finse.
The ants are throwing a welcome back party and lots of them are invited.
David feels a low constant hum of the question, "is this important?"
October:
David is going to plop his priorities in a coliseum, have them battle gladiators, and if they live then he'll know what to do.
David played crab soccer in the park this morning. It was a crabtacular day to abuse my arms and hands.
David is quite pleased to know you.
David is ham and cheese, ham and biscuits, hamhocks, ham and pineapple, honey-baked ham, MC Hammer, green eggs and ham...
David screamed like mad for a tie and walked home with chants of U-S-A ringing in his ears.
David quietly wrestles some big questions. The questions appear to have both a size and tactical advantage.
David just found out that deep down inside, he's still a Chiefs fan.
As the Kool-Aid man once said as he broke through the wall, "Oh yeah!"
Wayne's World?
Adversity is the test. Defeat is the education. Pay attention and pack some extra socks next time.
David thinks the Internet should know that Roller Derby is awesome. See, look, I even said it on the Internet.
November:
David is turning left.
David thinks daylight savings time should be an individual choice. This could be problematic when meeting someone at 10 PM give or take 1 hour.
The rain is complicating an already complicated weekend. Biting off more Ultimate than I can chew is catching up with me NOW.
My marathon PR is about 50 seconds slower than Sarah Palin's. Who do I get to blame?
A very late layout on some bad force side defense led to full on cramping in BOTH calves simultaneously. Not the highlight of my day.
David is wondering when he became a planner.
I'm an Uncle x 2. Welcome Parker!
December:
The Internet is good for lots of things, but hugging isn't one of them.
David is brought to you by the number 5.
David is concerned that babies are taking over Facebook. First Facebook, next...
If I get sick, I'm going down fighting. I am not afraid to pull hair.
early to bed and early to rise, hopefully makes this man f-a-s-t.
37:07 in the morning, not shot by John Wilkes Booth at night. Nice day, indeed.
I need some hair to pull. I'm going down...
oh instant karma, why do you take so long to get at me?
David has decided to mentally add "in bed" to all Facebook updates. It's like eating fortune cookies for days.
You can cancel my flight, but you can't cancel my fun. Yeah, snow!
David is excited and nervous to tele-ski today.
David hopes status updates and snow blanket you and yours with all the holiday cheer you can handle, and maybe a cup more.
Dear Friends and Family,
I am going to share with you my year in Facebook status updates. I thought it might accomplish the same thing as a good letter, but I'm really quite vague.
Love,
Dave
Oh, yeah, the updates:
January:
David is looking for the team to come together after this.
David feels his philosophy shifting.
David is going to make popsicles… on the track.
David is kind of pretty sure we can. Maybe.
David is trying to fathom 1.8 million people.
David was on the wrong side of 15-14.
February:
David cannot think of a fitting superlative for Evie’s cookies.
David feels the sting of beard-ism.
David sends bearded kisses in your general direction.
David is wondering if anybody wants to go with him to support Kyle in the 24 hour musicals?
David's favorite moment of the day was entering the darkness on the first turn of the first 400 meters.
March:
David is frisbee crush on Sam, dance crush on Anne, general crush on February 28.
David is no longer amused by the Not-so-great Depression.
David is aw yeah.
David thinks marriages shouldn't last forever just so there can be more weddings.
David really just wants more parties with families, dancing, and love, not divorce as the genie named Aaron has pointed out.
David has a theory, will never tell, and walks through the fire.
David has a lot to learn.
Whatever it is, it isn’t here.
David just asked a squirrel, "Are you ok?" after it fell out of a 25-foot tree. The squirrel didn't answer, but scurried away.
April:
David has already been fooled.
Sometimes you get what you deserve and even though you want more, you can't be too sad about that.
David is on the verge of creating a series of surveys about himself to send to his friends.
David thinks a run is in order. Wishes Borman lived up the street.
David was in second place for about three steps, fortunately they were the last three. Yeah.
David is 2nd again.
David’s legs didn’t quit, but everything else is striking on their behalf.
David has auto-tuning on his mind.
“He lives vicariously through himself”
May:
David saw two pirates making out and couldn’t resist shouting, “Pirate love!”
The rain will not deter us. It will only moisten our spirits.
If I achieve nothing else, at least I taught Tedward to dance.
The intensity got fixed but the mark got broken.
David wants to make out with this weather.
David suspended “your mom” jokes for the day. No need to thank me.
David is quietly rocking the red.
David is quietly watching the red get rocked. Ouch.
David needs Parks and Rec to go away or needs some self control. Both seem unlikely.
David is all about the slow start this weekend.
David had a dream about cleaning and is now making that a reality. Hopefully, that’s the start of a trend.
David might become a loyal customer of Southwest after all.
David wonders if overreaction might be the right reaction.
June:
David is pretty sure his hamstrings are tuned an octave too high.
David is no match for an armored King Hippo.
David blames it on the al-al-al- weather.
David hopes Betty bounced back and was glad to spend time with familiar faces.
David is warming up his weirdness. The leftovers will be slathered in BBQ sauce.
everything but the canoe
David is going for an unofficial tubing record today. The late start won't do us any favors.
dodging rain drops and responsibility.
David would rather be night-tubing.
David experienced a glitch in the Matrix.
David would like to auto-tune father's day. I'm not sure it would do anything, but it makes T-Pain and the news better, so maybe it would work for Dads.
David is alive. Thanks for asking.
David laughed and cried at "The Proposal". That's one perfectly predictable romantic comedy.
Wait? What? Michael Jackson is dead? Inconceivable. (Also, Billie Jean. Not my girl.)
David wants to shed material possessions in theory, but not in practice.
David is whaddaya know? 2nd place again (This time in my age group).
July:
David is trying to hold off a thunderstorm with just an outstretched hand.
David is in the promised land of leftovers.
David was not second, but is feeling a little fast.
David has got the beach vision, but still needs the beach attire (half of it anyway.)
David can't believe it. Turns out I was second in my age group on Friday.
David is in the peloton, but always considering a breakaway.
David wrestles with the age-old Sunday night question: watch low quality Lohan movie or do something productive?
David enjoyed downtown Fort Worth and is now headed to the land of diving in the sand!
The faux-Brits DO drink from a faux-golden cup!
David has finished his championship laundry and grocery shopping. Next up: Championship bathroom cleaning. There's nothing like glory.
David is not happy with non-confrontational double-speak. Make a decision and mean it, punks.
August:
David is watching his own every move on the Internet in a mirror. Don't raise your eyebrow at me, mirrorDave.
David is unable to handle his rock and roll lifestyle; considering something more bluegrass-y.
It takes very little to create the illusion of security: just a few pieces of wood can do it.
David has the best non-roommate ever and I'm not talking about the giant dead beetle.
the modern amateur philosopher inside of me asks, "If I cannot tweet or share my status update, do I really exist?"
David finds an increasing number of things irrelevant. Why not this thing?
As I pack the artifacts from my life into boxes I realize that the people in it have helped make it pretty awesome.
Newsflash: Usain Bolt= Fast. Wow.
David curses stuff.
“don’t stop ‘til you get enough!”
“Goodnight, Moon”
David is tempted by the prospect of a landline. Really, really tempted.
David met his adorable second cousin, ran up the side of a little mountain, watched the bright orange sunrise and is using up his adjectives in hot Arizona.
September:
David was only over Facebook when he couldn't get to it.
David ran a practice on the turf in the rain with 25 people. Did I slip into an alternate universe?
Field space is on my mind.
David is after fjords and bjork.
David wonders if he can be a fan of Finse.
The ants are throwing a welcome back party and lots of them are invited.
David feels a low constant hum of the question, "is this important?"
October:
David is going to plop his priorities in a coliseum, have them battle gladiators, and if they live then he'll know what to do.
David played crab soccer in the park this morning. It was a crabtacular day to abuse my arms and hands.
David is quite pleased to know you.
David is ham and cheese, ham and biscuits, hamhocks, ham and pineapple, honey-baked ham, MC Hammer, green eggs and ham...
David screamed like mad for a tie and walked home with chants of U-S-A ringing in his ears.
David quietly wrestles some big questions. The questions appear to have both a size and tactical advantage.
David just found out that deep down inside, he's still a Chiefs fan.
As the Kool-Aid man once said as he broke through the wall, "Oh yeah!"
Wayne's World?
Adversity is the test. Defeat is the education. Pay attention and pack some extra socks next time.
David thinks the Internet should know that Roller Derby is awesome. See, look, I even said it on the Internet.
November:
David is turning left.
David thinks daylight savings time should be an individual choice. This could be problematic when meeting someone at 10 PM give or take 1 hour.
The rain is complicating an already complicated weekend. Biting off more Ultimate than I can chew is catching up with me NOW.
My marathon PR is about 50 seconds slower than Sarah Palin's. Who do I get to blame?
A very late layout on some bad force side defense led to full on cramping in BOTH calves simultaneously. Not the highlight of my day.
David is wondering when he became a planner.
I'm an Uncle x 2. Welcome Parker!
December:
The Internet is good for lots of things, but hugging isn't one of them.
David is brought to you by the number 5.
David is concerned that babies are taking over Facebook. First Facebook, next...
If I get sick, I'm going down fighting. I am not afraid to pull hair.
early to bed and early to rise, hopefully makes this man f-a-s-t.
37:07 in the morning, not shot by John Wilkes Booth at night. Nice day, indeed.
I need some hair to pull. I'm going down...
oh instant karma, why do you take so long to get at me?
David has decided to mentally add "in bed" to all Facebook updates. It's like eating fortune cookies for days.
You can cancel my flight, but you can't cancel my fun. Yeah, snow!
David is excited and nervous to tele-ski today.
David hopes status updates and snow blanket you and yours with all the holiday cheer you can handle, and maybe a cup more.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Back to basics
It's been about 10 years since I went from downhill skis to the snowboard. I can't remember the exact moment when I looked over jealously at all of those "cool" boarders shredding the mountain and thought, "I want to try that." I wasn't the greatest skier, but I could go pretty much anywhere on the mountain from in the trees to the black diamonds. I couldn't keep my skis perfectly parallel, but I sensed that it would take many expensive lessons to get me from "good" to "great". Instead, I decided to try a new way down the hill. I've read that skiing is easy to learn and hard to master and snowboarding is hard to learn and easy to master. I think that's accurate. The first few days of snowboarding were brutal. I slammed into the ground repeatedly as I caught edges or couldn't find a way to stop. Snowboards don't pop off in a violent crash, that plank stays attached to your feet which meant hopping up to try again was a cinch. Slam down, hop up, slam down, repeat. I took lessons, I had body aches, and then... it all came together. Turning in those sweeping parallel turns that look so cool and take years to get good at on skis, suddenly clicked on the snowboard. From then on, I was mostly a snowboarder. If pressed at the top of a precipice or a field of moguls, I would probably still choose skis, but on an open run a snowboard is still really cool.
Yesterday, I had the opportunity to try a new way down the hill- telemark skiing. It's downhill with a free-heel. It involves lunging turns and probably works best for use in the back country. I wasn't in the back country, instead returning to A-basin after 15 years or so away. A-basin has a lot of acreage above the tree line, which can be disorienting. Yesterday, I was disoriented for other reasons as I tried to learn this new way down. The lunges were as tiring as I expected and my struggle was mostly frustrating. I was surprised to find that in a pinch I could fall back on alpine turns, but since I'd come for the challenge of learning tele (short for telemark) turns, that's what I tried to do. I'd read a book of tips and A tried to give me hints as we went, but mostly I battled. I could see the similarities between snowboarding and tele-skiing, but translating the body motions was exhausting work. I was able to turn right with some success, but turning left was just not happening. A claimed I needed more speed, but I know that I needed more body control and a renewal of trust that when I moved from one edge of the ski, to the flat, to the other edge I would be able to recover. At times, I had enough success to make me proud and at other times I threw up my hands in exasperation. Tele-skiing and the altitude wore me out quickly, but I enjoyed the challenge enough that I might try again. In ways that I can't quite explain, I think getting out of my comfort zone was a very good thing.
It's been about 10 years since I went from downhill skis to the snowboard. I can't remember the exact moment when I looked over jealously at all of those "cool" boarders shredding the mountain and thought, "I want to try that." I wasn't the greatest skier, but I could go pretty much anywhere on the mountain from in the trees to the black diamonds. I couldn't keep my skis perfectly parallel, but I sensed that it would take many expensive lessons to get me from "good" to "great". Instead, I decided to try a new way down the hill. I've read that skiing is easy to learn and hard to master and snowboarding is hard to learn and easy to master. I think that's accurate. The first few days of snowboarding were brutal. I slammed into the ground repeatedly as I caught edges or couldn't find a way to stop. Snowboards don't pop off in a violent crash, that plank stays attached to your feet which meant hopping up to try again was a cinch. Slam down, hop up, slam down, repeat. I took lessons, I had body aches, and then... it all came together. Turning in those sweeping parallel turns that look so cool and take years to get good at on skis, suddenly clicked on the snowboard. From then on, I was mostly a snowboarder. If pressed at the top of a precipice or a field of moguls, I would probably still choose skis, but on an open run a snowboard is still really cool.
Yesterday, I had the opportunity to try a new way down the hill- telemark skiing. It's downhill with a free-heel. It involves lunging turns and probably works best for use in the back country. I wasn't in the back country, instead returning to A-basin after 15 years or so away. A-basin has a lot of acreage above the tree line, which can be disorienting. Yesterday, I was disoriented for other reasons as I tried to learn this new way down. The lunges were as tiring as I expected and my struggle was mostly frustrating. I was surprised to find that in a pinch I could fall back on alpine turns, but since I'd come for the challenge of learning tele (short for telemark) turns, that's what I tried to do. I'd read a book of tips and A tried to give me hints as we went, but mostly I battled. I could see the similarities between snowboarding and tele-skiing, but translating the body motions was exhausting work. I was able to turn right with some success, but turning left was just not happening. A claimed I needed more speed, but I know that I needed more body control and a renewal of trust that when I moved from one edge of the ski, to the flat, to the other edge I would be able to recover. At times, I had enough success to make me proud and at other times I threw up my hands in exasperation. Tele-skiing and the altitude wore me out quickly, but I enjoyed the challenge enough that I might try again. In ways that I can't quite explain, I think getting out of my comfort zone was a very good thing.
DC has it
I got to place a small check mark next to a few big items on the DC list. Thanks to the deputy roomie, we woke up early in the morning and went to see decorations at 1600 Penn. We saw the more public spaces, the colored rooms, and such. It was a thrill and something on my list, but not quite as exciting as I'd hoped. I couldn't really detect the O' touch with any of the decor.
Later in the weekend, C took me to Ford's theater for "A Christmas Carol". It was good for getting in the spirit. I've never seen the play with actual Christmas carols, so I thought that was a nice touch. I'm told Ford's theater has recently been redone, but I don't have much theater experience, so I'm not sure what we saw. I did enjoy the set design of the play, but I'm pretty sure that wasn't part of the renovation. Lincoln's infamous balcony was still intact. I was proud that the bus got us part way too and from the play. So urban.
Last weekend, we got the snow I've been waiting since that first year when it snowed about 15 inches. I'd say it was about 20 inches where I was. It canceled my flight out of town, but was otherwise great. It was pretty, white, and I could dive in it. A lot. So, I did. I found I was only diving off my right foot. Next time we get 20 inches I might need to work on that. I left town before it got too messy. Probably not a bad way to go, well except for the 11-hour travel day...
I got to place a small check mark next to a few big items on the DC list. Thanks to the deputy roomie, we woke up early in the morning and went to see decorations at 1600 Penn. We saw the more public spaces, the colored rooms, and such. It was a thrill and something on my list, but not quite as exciting as I'd hoped. I couldn't really detect the O' touch with any of the decor.
Later in the weekend, C took me to Ford's theater for "A Christmas Carol". It was good for getting in the spirit. I've never seen the play with actual Christmas carols, so I thought that was a nice touch. I'm told Ford's theater has recently been redone, but I don't have much theater experience, so I'm not sure what we saw. I did enjoy the set design of the play, but I'm pretty sure that wasn't part of the renovation. Lincoln's infamous balcony was still intact. I was proud that the bus got us part way too and from the play. So urban.
Last weekend, we got the snow I've been waiting since that first year when it snowed about 15 inches. I'd say it was about 20 inches where I was. It canceled my flight out of town, but was otherwise great. It was pretty, white, and I could dive in it. A lot. So, I did. I found I was only diving off my right foot. Next time we get 20 inches I might need to work on that. I left town before it got too messy. Probably not a bad way to go, well except for the 11-hour travel day...
Monday, December 14, 2009
Triumph in the land of doubt
I spent much of the week explaining to myself why my 10k race would not be a success. My body felt tired. My running felt out of sync. I hadn't run enough. I hadn't run fast in quite some time. I don't run 10k races. It would be cold or wet or I don't run 10k races. I've run enough races to know that my brain lies and I said something about it to AJ, "My brain is in negativity mode." He said something like, "You know how to push your limits from running and from lifting. You'll be fine."
MB and I formulated a conservative plan. We would run 6:15 miles for a while and see how we felt. We were running as Team Shiver, a collection of Ultimate players brave enough to run a race in the mild Mid-Atlantic winter. There was a chance of rain, but I was secretly hoping for snow. The rain let up and turned to a mist. We crawled over a barrier and into the front quarter of the starting group. There were thousands of runners. "Go" was uttered and we shuffled to the start. Moments later, the race plan was out the window as competitive urges took over. We dodged and weaved our way through the crowd. Sometimes I was on MB's heels and sometimes he was on mine. The mile came quickly at about 5:55. So much for strategy.
From there, MB and I settled in and passed people. He led me. I led him. We each took a side and cruised on. We passed the mayor. I took a look at Reagan National Airport in the morning fog. We cruised through two miles at about 12:08. We hit the 5k mark at 18:43. Things were going well. We wrapped around the point and doubled part way back. I felt my first twinge of tiredness at that point, but fought on. Our passing had slowed and teammate SM informed us we were in something like 55th place as those coming met those going. I wasn't sure what to do with that information, but my inclination was to find more people to pass. We crossed 4 miles at something like 23:58. I don't remember how it happened, but suddenly MB was way out in front of me. I could still chase the black and gold of his stocking cap, but we were out of touch. I struggled on. I watched him battle a green and gold singlet and move on. A little later I went past too. I kept my eyes up and on his hat. I passed the 5 mile mark at 30:03. My body felt strong, although at times my arms felt a little heavy. As I pushed on, with the bobbing black and gold as my goal, I figured if I could hold on for 6 minutes and 43 seconds, I would be done. I don't know exactly why I thought that was the amount left, but I was pretty convinced. I crested a small hill on the mostly flat course and found a small group to battle as we made our way to the straight-away finish. I checked my watch and I still had 3 minutes to power through. I chased a woman who was moving, then I passed a guy as well. For the first time all day, someone came up on my shoulder. I held him off as we picked up the pace more and more. Then I break him. The long straight to the finish was still a pretty long straight to the finish and I soon broke too. He came back and passed me and kindly encouraged me. I struggled in, frustrated that I'd made my move too early. I had to fight a bit and I used the team as inspiration. I made my way in at 37:07, with a final place of 31st. Not a bad little 10k.
Since there were very few uniforms, there was no way to get a sense of how the team was doing. We could only support one another and hope. I think each of us had a moment where the team inspired us to fight off a few extra seconds. Later we would find out that we were 4th out of 49 teams. We'd done well as our 7 or 8 member team had become 6 and one of those didn't get a working chip. Four times (at least one of each gender) counted toward our final time. We were about 7 minutes out of third place, but had lots to celebrate over breakfast. I'm hoping for more some other day.
I spent much of the week explaining to myself why my 10k race would not be a success. My body felt tired. My running felt out of sync. I hadn't run enough. I hadn't run fast in quite some time. I don't run 10k races. It would be cold or wet or I don't run 10k races. I've run enough races to know that my brain lies and I said something about it to AJ, "My brain is in negativity mode." He said something like, "You know how to push your limits from running and from lifting. You'll be fine."
MB and I formulated a conservative plan. We would run 6:15 miles for a while and see how we felt. We were running as Team Shiver, a collection of Ultimate players brave enough to run a race in the mild Mid-Atlantic winter. There was a chance of rain, but I was secretly hoping for snow. The rain let up and turned to a mist. We crawled over a barrier and into the front quarter of the starting group. There were thousands of runners. "Go" was uttered and we shuffled to the start. Moments later, the race plan was out the window as competitive urges took over. We dodged and weaved our way through the crowd. Sometimes I was on MB's heels and sometimes he was on mine. The mile came quickly at about 5:55. So much for strategy.
From there, MB and I settled in and passed people. He led me. I led him. We each took a side and cruised on. We passed the mayor. I took a look at Reagan National Airport in the morning fog. We cruised through two miles at about 12:08. We hit the 5k mark at 18:43. Things were going well. We wrapped around the point and doubled part way back. I felt my first twinge of tiredness at that point, but fought on. Our passing had slowed and teammate SM informed us we were in something like 55th place as those coming met those going. I wasn't sure what to do with that information, but my inclination was to find more people to pass. We crossed 4 miles at something like 23:58. I don't remember how it happened, but suddenly MB was way out in front of me. I could still chase the black and gold of his stocking cap, but we were out of touch. I struggled on. I watched him battle a green and gold singlet and move on. A little later I went past too. I kept my eyes up and on his hat. I passed the 5 mile mark at 30:03. My body felt strong, although at times my arms felt a little heavy. As I pushed on, with the bobbing black and gold as my goal, I figured if I could hold on for 6 minutes and 43 seconds, I would be done. I don't know exactly why I thought that was the amount left, but I was pretty convinced. I crested a small hill on the mostly flat course and found a small group to battle as we made our way to the straight-away finish. I checked my watch and I still had 3 minutes to power through. I chased a woman who was moving, then I passed a guy as well. For the first time all day, someone came up on my shoulder. I held him off as we picked up the pace more and more. Then I break him. The long straight to the finish was still a pretty long straight to the finish and I soon broke too. He came back and passed me and kindly encouraged me. I struggled in, frustrated that I'd made my move too early. I had to fight a bit and I used the team as inspiration. I made my way in at 37:07, with a final place of 31st. Not a bad little 10k.
Since there were very few uniforms, there was no way to get a sense of how the team was doing. We could only support one another and hope. I think each of us had a moment where the team inspired us to fight off a few extra seconds. Later we would find out that we were 4th out of 49 teams. We'd done well as our 7 or 8 member team had become 6 and one of those didn't get a working chip. Four times (at least one of each gender) counted toward our final time. We were about 7 minutes out of third place, but had lots to celebrate over breakfast. I'm hoping for more some other day.
Friday, December 11, 2009
The posts that got away
I didn't quite get through the blogging month, but I'm pleased with what I did get through. I found a few things out. When I work at it my interests do still extend slightly beyond running, Ultimate, and working out. I also found that writing every day made me more observant. In the last few weeks as I've fallen out of the habit of posting, days sometimes go by both instantly and terribly slowly. All of this can't be attributed to blogging, but I think blogging takes my awareness of interaction and purpose up a notch.
I can't decide if the daily writing also loosened up some other creativity inside of me. I had a quick spell where I was feeling all kinds of creative. I came up with projects for myself. I hardly ever do that.
I haven't meant to stop blogging completely, although the thought did cross my mind, but somehow each day has managed to get away. I'd like to tackle a few of the items in brief for my memoirs before moving into this weekend and adding a few more.
Hiking on Thanksgiving
For the second year in a row I was in the Smokey Mountains with C's family and we did a little hiking on Thanksgiving. The fresh air and the sense of completing a hike pre-turkey is extremely satisfying for me. It's all made possible by the fine cooks who stay behind, but it certainly gives me something to be thankful for. I don't know if two years are enough to make a tradition, but tradition or not, it's a great way to enjoy Thanksgiving.
Roller Derby Fan Club
Friends gathered together to cheer on LBJ in her first full bout. We brought signs. I had my face painted. When I sat down, I forgot that most of my face is covered in beard, but the artist did well to work around it. As a fan, I had a terrible time sitting still. I paced. I worried that LBJ wouldn't get playing time. I worried about how she'd do. I worried about her getting hurt because she seems to think that injury is a foregone conclusion. She played. Her team had a stirring come from behind victory. She had some nice hits and either hunger or nerves left a curious feeling in my tummy.
Girls on the Run
I don't even remember how I got roped into this one, but somewhere along the line I signed up to be a "buddy" for a fifth grade girl. I didn't know what to expect, but I was told that I'd been placed with the fast girl. Running a 5k at that age is impressive, but what's fast? I didn't have a clue. Up at 5:30 AM and riding with a stranger, I soon was on a bus full of young girls and their buddies (mostly moms and teachers). The girls seemed excited. They'd been working for several months building up to this distance. The chaos had only just begun. About 6,000 girls and their buddies later, we were crossing the starting line in waves and my buddy was rearing to go. The road was packed and my buddy tripped and fell. It was snowing. Buddy picked herself up and wiped away the pain and made her way on. There was lots to complain about- snow, cold, puddles, crowds, falling, but I tried to keep it positive. I offered to sing songs, but for some reason buddy wasn't buying it. She struggled a bit, but kept after it and finished in about 40 minutes. I think she was a little disappointed, but mostly proud as were her classmates. They had a lot to be proud of. It's a big deal to run that long at that age. I might consider returning in the spring, but probably only for the same buddy. I think it's a great program, but the race and be done involvement is likely not as rewarding as seeing the girls become runners. On the flip side, I feel great about my 5 hours of community service.
Symphony
I probably should have napped after the run, but instead I went to the Symphony to support a friend and her viola. The snow continued. I felt so cultured, warm, and sleepy.
Dance party
I've lost track of the days, but I'm pretty sure that some time after the Symphony I ended up at a dance party. It's well told that I enjoy dancing, but I'm primarily a wedding dancer. Club dancing to me is a bit like ice dancing to a figure skater. Maybe it was the size of the group I was in or the thump-thump-thump of the music hit me just right, but I awoke from my club dancing stupor and got into it. I wasn't as into it as the chubby guys GETTING DOWN to "All the single ladies," but I was into it. I've got moves. I'm pretty sure my moves are all about enthusiasm, but it seems to fool most people. I wonder where else that would work.
I didn't quite get through the blogging month, but I'm pleased with what I did get through. I found a few things out. When I work at it my interests do still extend slightly beyond running, Ultimate, and working out. I also found that writing every day made me more observant. In the last few weeks as I've fallen out of the habit of posting, days sometimes go by both instantly and terribly slowly. All of this can't be attributed to blogging, but I think blogging takes my awareness of interaction and purpose up a notch.
I can't decide if the daily writing also loosened up some other creativity inside of me. I had a quick spell where I was feeling all kinds of creative. I came up with projects for myself. I hardly ever do that.
I haven't meant to stop blogging completely, although the thought did cross my mind, but somehow each day has managed to get away. I'd like to tackle a few of the items in brief for my memoirs before moving into this weekend and adding a few more.
Hiking on Thanksgiving
For the second year in a row I was in the Smokey Mountains with C's family and we did a little hiking on Thanksgiving. The fresh air and the sense of completing a hike pre-turkey is extremely satisfying for me. It's all made possible by the fine cooks who stay behind, but it certainly gives me something to be thankful for. I don't know if two years are enough to make a tradition, but tradition or not, it's a great way to enjoy Thanksgiving.
Roller Derby Fan Club
Friends gathered together to cheer on LBJ in her first full bout. We brought signs. I had my face painted. When I sat down, I forgot that most of my face is covered in beard, but the artist did well to work around it. As a fan, I had a terrible time sitting still. I paced. I worried that LBJ wouldn't get playing time. I worried about how she'd do. I worried about her getting hurt because she seems to think that injury is a foregone conclusion. She played. Her team had a stirring come from behind victory. She had some nice hits and either hunger or nerves left a curious feeling in my tummy.
Girls on the Run
I don't even remember how I got roped into this one, but somewhere along the line I signed up to be a "buddy" for a fifth grade girl. I didn't know what to expect, but I was told that I'd been placed with the fast girl. Running a 5k at that age is impressive, but what's fast? I didn't have a clue. Up at 5:30 AM and riding with a stranger, I soon was on a bus full of young girls and their buddies (mostly moms and teachers). The girls seemed excited. They'd been working for several months building up to this distance. The chaos had only just begun. About 6,000 girls and their buddies later, we were crossing the starting line in waves and my buddy was rearing to go. The road was packed and my buddy tripped and fell. It was snowing. Buddy picked herself up and wiped away the pain and made her way on. There was lots to complain about- snow, cold, puddles, crowds, falling, but I tried to keep it positive. I offered to sing songs, but for some reason buddy wasn't buying it. She struggled a bit, but kept after it and finished in about 40 minutes. I think she was a little disappointed, but mostly proud as were her classmates. They had a lot to be proud of. It's a big deal to run that long at that age. I might consider returning in the spring, but probably only for the same buddy. I think it's a great program, but the race and be done involvement is likely not as rewarding as seeing the girls become runners. On the flip side, I feel great about my 5 hours of community service.
Symphony
I probably should have napped after the run, but instead I went to the Symphony to support a friend and her viola. The snow continued. I felt so cultured, warm, and sleepy.
Dance party
I've lost track of the days, but I'm pretty sure that some time after the Symphony I ended up at a dance party. It's well told that I enjoy dancing, but I'm primarily a wedding dancer. Club dancing to me is a bit like ice dancing to a figure skater. Maybe it was the size of the group I was in or the thump-thump-thump of the music hit me just right, but I awoke from my club dancing stupor and got into it. I wasn't as into it as the chubby guys GETTING DOWN to "All the single ladies," but I was into it. I've got moves. I'm pretty sure my moves are all about enthusiasm, but it seems to fool most people. I wonder where else that would work.
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