Philadelphia quicksand or How I learned to watch the clock and stop worrying about the place
It doesn't get better. It only gets worse. -Matt
We arrived just before 10 PM, Bull, Murray, Matt, and I, taking Philly and a bit of silly, in the dark of night. Our directions weren't clear, and yet, when we stopped and got of of the car we found ourselves just outside of the campsite. At that point, it was more city park, more make-out spot, more odd place to be after dark than anything else. Just on the other side of the building where the indomitable Rocky climbed the steps in triumph, we set up Paul's house-sized tent by headlamp. We went to bed in one of only three tents on the site and woke to a growing tent city.
The race started at 10 AM. Our relay team of 5 had shrunk to 4, with me nursing an injury. I'd hoped that rest, acupuncture, doctor, stretching, miracles might lead to recovery, but as I tested myself soon after sunrise, I knew it was not to be. I readied my support.
As we talked to other runners in various iterations of the 20in24 event, we realized that flexibility abounded. Some runners were running 24 hours. Some part of relays running 4 laps each of the 8.4 mile course, some part of relays running only 1 lap each. We had 10 laps, 84 miles, but we could divide those laps any way we wanted. Recognizing that I wanted to do more than support and that the challenge of 10 laps by 3 individuals would be a big one, I offered to walk a lap. Maybe I could run a bit if things went well. Regardless, I could provide Paul and Matt a rest before they embarked on clearing 20 or 30 miles for the day and I could contribute more to the team than just support. It felt right and I hoped it would work.
As we circled museum drive looking for parking, Paul and Matt hatched a plan and negotiated who would run 4 laps and who would be left with only 3. Then it was 10 AM.
Paul kicked off the running portion of the adventure for the team known as Fast Fraction Five. I started my watch. Marie, Matt and I then made our way back to the tent and the shade, glorious shade, to wait for our team to be announced over the loudspeaker. We conversed and snacked and laid the groundwork for an enjoyable Saturday cycle. When Paul reached two miles from the finish of the loop, a PA announcer would interrupt the blaring music to let us know. At least that was the intent. With about 50 minutes gone by, I began to expect the announcement that didn't come. We soon headed back to the start line, just in case. As we arrived, so did Paul. We'd botched the first hand off, but only by a few moments as Paul came in right around 61 minutes. Matt bounded into action and left for lap 2.
Paul got a drink and his first wet towel and we returned to the tent and shade. Paul gave us an economics lesson while we waited for Matt. Team names like Gingerbread men, Dirty Birds 1 (and 2), B'more Charmers were read over the loudspeaker. Concepts like debt and deficit and Nutella were discussed. The latter less for economical reasons and more for snack reasons. Matt arrived early, but the announcers were on it. So, the team waited together for his arrival at the chute as he cruised in having looped in about 55 or 56 minutes.
Exact times seemed too much for me to track, but I busied myself with paying close attention to pace and making sure we were ready when the runner on the course came in. Although race day comfort is a personal thing, I also found myself trying as much as I could to be involved in the off-the-course comfort of the team. If all went well, I wouldn't walk until nearly 6 PM, so my day would be largely spent in support of FFF. I wanted to embrace that and being in the company of friends. At the early stages, it was easy. Marie was off and clicking through her first lap. Paul and Matt discussed their first loops and I tended to snacking, listening, and writing the early portions of this retelling. About 68 minutes later, off went Paul for his second lap.
We'd just passed the 3 hour mark and were sending out Paul for the fourth leg. The race was off to a good start. Marie toyed with idea of napping and brushed off compliments of her speed. We waited longer than expected for Paul. I thought I'd accounted for some delay, but I was nervous that we'd again missed the announcement on the loudspeaker. My nervousness was slightly misplaced, as Paul had some runner's trouble on his second loop. He still came in at 64 minutes, but he was a little pale and quite a bit rattled. We got him cooled off inside for a bit and calmed down a few notches while Matt made his second loop. The body was ok and there was time to rest.
The PA announcements came in spurts, interrupting the likes of Beyonce or Phil Collins in turn. Got the runs, On your left, Blank Romans, Molasses were all making their way through the course. We began to hear about the ultra-marathoners over the PA as well. A subdued celebration with light applause echoed for the scratch on the surface for those brave souls taking on the course on their own, lap after lap after lap.
Matt was back in 58 minutes. He handed off the yellow and sweat-covered wristband of joy to Marie for her second and final lap. Most relay teams were now in or nearing the first round of their runners. Our brave team was taking on their second lap already. The vibe in the camp was upbeat. People were happy to be done with a loop, proud of their accomplishment, and only tired in little ways. FFF still had a big day ahead, but Paul's swagger had started to return, and Matt looked well. If I looked closely though, I could see they both had a hollower look of fatigue that other campers would soon know. I knew and they knew they could go on, but we also knew they had a lot still to ask of their bodies.
While Marie was out, Matt hatched a revision to the plan. Paul readily agreed. We'd push me to leg 9, so that way Matt would be fresher if he was needed in all or in part for leg 10. I didn't mind, another 70 minutes of waiting to walk didn't change my day much at all. So it would be.
Marie came through in about 76 minutes, pushing us near the 6 hour and 22 minute mark for the day. The three who were acting as five, held us in fifth through 6 laps in the 10 lap division, as Paul took out again. After Marie cooled off and settled a bit, her first question was about Paul. Moments before Marie had finished her leg, and several minutes after he'd wearily declared the next loop would be a slow one, the color and confidence had returned to his face. Paul would knock out his third leg just fine. We could sense it.
He did while Marie basked in being done for the day. Matt knocked out a fine last leg of his own while I started to develop a few jitters. I had a two hour walk ahead of me. I knew I could walk 8.4 miles and I was fairly certain I could do it without much pain, but could I do it "fast" and more than that did I want to? The questions swirled in my head and the snack food rolled a bit in my stomach.
As I stood waiting for the hand off, I eyed young fast runners jealously. I told Paul that I was shooting for 2 hours to give him some sense of when to expect me. Matt came in, wished me well, and handed me the sweat covered wrist band. I stuffed it in my pocket feeling more disgust than joy and waddled off. As the perspiration of the sweat band seeped through my pocket, I turned the corner around the art museum, and picked off two others, one resting ultra-marathoner and another walker like me. As I searched for my identity as a walker, I was fortunate not to be passed by anyone until nearly 3/4 of a mile. Soon after the runners came by, but it didn't hurt to be passed. This was my pace and passing happened. It just did.
If we believe the mile markers, and I'm told we didn't, my first mile was in 14:30. At times, I glanced at the scenery. At times, I focused on my breathing and tried to manage or improve my nagging injuries. I found times where I was lost in the speed of my breathing and my walking, times where the world melted away just like it does when I run. I tried not to look at my watch much, knowing that I'd be out on the course for a good long time. I thought I'd found a groove and skipped right through mile two, but it wasn't true. Mile two came in another slow 14 minutes. The relative speed of the miles would get better, though.
I passed walking runners and runners passed me. Some exchanged positive words and others slipped by silently. I lost and found focus. I grabbed water or Gatorade when I passed by the relief stands. My steps weren't the steps of a runner, but my time and place were still measured by getting to the next mile. This sense of purpose, this fight for focus, these are reasons I run and the reasons that walking on this day were ok. I had time to consider my pain points and I had time to try to make adjustments to correct that pain. I had time to see some scenery. As I made the turn nearing halfway, the sun and the hills worked together to cast shadows on the bridges and the river, but not on the cemetery on the hill. The cemetery was bathed in evening light with shadowed bridges below. None of my teammates saw the cemetery at all, even though the course passed right by it. I didn't see it all, sometimes lost in my own thoughts, and never allowing myself to lollygag, even if my walk slowed.
The team Nice View From Behind passed me by and I gave a cheer. Then I began to notice others in our division go by. I struggled to keep some within striking distance for our last runner, but the difference between walk and run was vast. Four miles became five and the time to go seemed almost pleasant and manageable. Aided by a salty pretzel, I passed and was passed and passed and was passed again by one of the ultra-marathoners. Being in a battle, I on my 8 mile walk and he on his 100 mile run, seemed strange, almost wrong, and yet still a little motivating.
As we neared mile 6, I was passed by a division competitor who then slowed to a walk. I passed him, but soon he passed me again. He didn't last long though and by mile 7, my walk was once again closing in on him. They'd radioed in that my finish was coming, probably still 26 minutes away, but still coming and I knew that FFF would be waiting.
I wanted to close the gap on my competition, but I had no other walking gear. I kept my man in site for some time. Then as the signs on the road read 1/2 a mile to go, my eyes started to water. Desperately, I wanted to gallop. I wanted to close out the race with a wicked kick. I wanted to support my team with speed. I wanted to do what I do well. I wanted to run, not walk. I wanted to test my guts and my mettle against those other runners around me. I wanted to prove that I was runner, to hear my lungs heave and my heart beat and to feel that exhausted satisfaction of the finish line. I wiped my eyes and steadied my walk. I was a walker today. Paul would close the gap. Despite what my head and my heart and my lungs told me, my side, my groin, my back had been telling me for weeks not to run. I'd gone 8 miles not running. There was no reason not to go .4 miles more as a walker.
In about 1 hour and 53 minutes, I'd covered the course and handed the now nearly dry wristband of joy to Paul for FFF's final leg. Darkness was moments away and the full moon was rising.
The team had packed the tent in my absence. My legs did have more soreness than I expected. I wobbled just a touch as we packed up a little more and waited to celebrate with Paul.
He came in 11 hours and 25 minutes after we'd begun. He'd had to walk a bit in the last leg, but still finished strong. He grabbed more cold wet towels and we celebrated with rest and dance moves. Marie, Matt, Paul and I relished our collective success, our very different days, and our shared joy. We relished it as we snacked and talked our way, sometimes delirious way, home.
Maybe the body and the legs didn't get better as the day wore on, but it did get better. There's a reward in trying and a reward in finishing and there's a reward in doing it together. Thanks, team.
*Matt did clarify that he only meant in the context of getting more tired in a long distance race and not in general.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Canoe come out and play?
My hands pulled dry bags from the van and I plopped the rubbery pillow-like masses on the driveway. My younger sister walked by carrying a sleeping bag into the garage. I saw her out of the corner of my eye and I felt the urge to check the answering machine for messages from our friends. I turned my eyes up the street and saw my nieces, two growing girls with a third on the way.
The answering machine is ten years gone, our friends have moved up and out of town; like my sister, they are married and have children of their own. The family van is long gone, replaced by my parent's Sportsmobile for rolling in retirement.
Canoeing with my family makes me feel like a kid. I'm getting better at hoisting the canoes on cars and tying knots to hold them down, but that's still the purview of my dad. It's not something I do much more than yearly. Sometimes that seems like a problem, but like most of my problems, that all seems to flow downstream when we finally get to the campground near the river. Water gun warfare returned in force this year as even more big and small children joined the manufactured fracas.
My niece Madeline, now 4, had stocked up on small-person-friendly artillery and threatened a watery downfall for her Uncle Dave. As we headed out again this year on the Niangua river with a smaller group of about 20, water came down from the sky. The rain slowed the first volley as raincoats and ponchos were donned. The rain lasted longer than predicted, but it was a soft cool rain in the July summer and I found it refreshing.
With Clare working and my uncle unable to join us on the river, I had the unique pleasure of paddling the old Grumman with my aunt. We knocked off two days and 14.4 miles with relative ease. The water was down from last year, and the few rapids left seemed all but harmless. My aunt's been canoeing longer than I have and her experience in the bow was noticeable. She'd know to draw before I needed to ask and we'd glide past fallen branches and protruding rocks. She did brace more than expected, but that seemed to provide her some comfort. We mostly stayed out of trouble when we weren't causing it.
Aunt Julie and I launched a number of in-boat attacks on small children and her grown children and their significant others. In some of these we came out wetter than planned. When not being drenched by a spray of water, I couldn't help but smile to see my cousins both running their boats calmly on the Niangua. When did we all have time to age? It must have been between canoe trips, because I found myself asking the same question at the campsite, between s'mores.
The tents have mostly been replaced by Sportsmobiles and some of the tents that did remain had blowing fans plugged in to electrical outlets. This is not the roughing it, the conservation, that I remember. Comfort has come to outweigh those other values. It's hard to get too upset about those choices though, especially when family, community, and enjoying the outdoors on and off the river remain.
My hands pulled dry bags from the van and I plopped the rubbery pillow-like masses on the driveway. My younger sister walked by carrying a sleeping bag into the garage. I saw her out of the corner of my eye and I felt the urge to check the answering machine for messages from our friends. I turned my eyes up the street and saw my nieces, two growing girls with a third on the way.
The answering machine is ten years gone, our friends have moved up and out of town; like my sister, they are married and have children of their own. The family van is long gone, replaced by my parent's Sportsmobile for rolling in retirement.
Canoeing with my family makes me feel like a kid. I'm getting better at hoisting the canoes on cars and tying knots to hold them down, but that's still the purview of my dad. It's not something I do much more than yearly. Sometimes that seems like a problem, but like most of my problems, that all seems to flow downstream when we finally get to the campground near the river. Water gun warfare returned in force this year as even more big and small children joined the manufactured fracas.
My niece Madeline, now 4, had stocked up on small-person-friendly artillery and threatened a watery downfall for her Uncle Dave. As we headed out again this year on the Niangua river with a smaller group of about 20, water came down from the sky. The rain slowed the first volley as raincoats and ponchos were donned. The rain lasted longer than predicted, but it was a soft cool rain in the July summer and I found it refreshing.
With Clare working and my uncle unable to join us on the river, I had the unique pleasure of paddling the old Grumman with my aunt. We knocked off two days and 14.4 miles with relative ease. The water was down from last year, and the few rapids left seemed all but harmless. My aunt's been canoeing longer than I have and her experience in the bow was noticeable. She'd know to draw before I needed to ask and we'd glide past fallen branches and protruding rocks. She did brace more than expected, but that seemed to provide her some comfort. We mostly stayed out of trouble when we weren't causing it.
Aunt Julie and I launched a number of in-boat attacks on small children and her grown children and their significant others. In some of these we came out wetter than planned. When not being drenched by a spray of water, I couldn't help but smile to see my cousins both running their boats calmly on the Niangua. When did we all have time to age? It must have been between canoe trips, because I found myself asking the same question at the campsite, between s'mores.
The tents have mostly been replaced by Sportsmobiles and some of the tents that did remain had blowing fans plugged in to electrical outlets. This is not the roughing it, the conservation, that I remember. Comfort has come to outweigh those other values. It's hard to get too upset about those choices though, especially when family, community, and enjoying the outdoors on and off the river remain.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Reason for optimism
I just leaned against the handlebars of my bike at a traffic light. The pain that's taken flight since Saturday, the pain that's sent me in a downward spiral of 2007, the pain that's not even that bad except that it prevents me from going to play Ultimate, is in a different spot.
There's no guarantee that this means I'm ok. There's no way for me to know if I can work this pain out and get back to playing after a week of vacation. The only thing I know is that for a moment, I have hope. I'm going to try and work this out. I'm going to hope that I can get back to playing. I'm going to eschew pain and emerge victorious.
I just leaned against the handlebars of my bike at a traffic light. The pain that's taken flight since Saturday, the pain that's sent me in a downward spiral of 2007, the pain that's not even that bad except that it prevents me from going to play Ultimate, is in a different spot.
There's no guarantee that this means I'm ok. There's no way for me to know if I can work this pain out and get back to playing after a week of vacation. The only thing I know is that for a moment, I have hope. I'm going to try and work this out. I'm going to hope that I can get back to playing. I'm going to eschew pain and emerge victorious.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Tough day for psoas, decent day for Ultimate
I didn't take time to work out much this past week and I may be paying the price. As my team, Casual Encounters, warmed up yesterday for our one day tournament in Catonsville, I could feel my psoas start to act out. I'd warmed up extra and I thought I was managing it, but yesterday it struck back early. When caught nursing my side with a pained look on my face, I confessed that I may not be quite as ready to play as usual. I could feel pain in my groin. Last time groin pain led to an inability to change direction. It's tough to compete in Ultimate without being able to change direction.
I worked on it on the sidelines as the first game started. I decided it was ok to play and got in a few points. For some reason, and I don't think it was my psoas, our offensive cutters were in the way of one another, me included. It was chaos and fairly frustrating. We still seemed to be hanging around in the game, but we never really challenged the other team. I think I managed to catch a deep score and float a score to Fox, but I don't remember much else beyond the cutting turmoil. My psoas didn't get worse.
Our second game was against the one seed and likely the sectional favorite- Grey. They are athletic and have good throws. I was told I would be mostly sitting in hopes that we could mount a stronger attack in the third game. We were getting beat soundly, but we were fighting hard. The offense started to clean up a bit and everyone was competing. I did manage to get in a few points and make some things happen. I took one cut deep and got a floaty huck from Bruce Wayne. My defender made up the ground on me and a help defender caught up as well. As the three of us ran to position ourselves for the slicing disc to come down, I'm told that my defender uncoiled and began to leap after the disc, but instead he slammed into his teammate. I took a few steps away from the pile and pulled down the score. I played some solid defense against a guy who was running all over the field. He didn't get the disc, but my teammates took delight in telling me that his approach was what it felt like covering me. I just said something to the effect of, "That's exhausting."
My play of the day that wasn't quite, happened late in this game on an in cut across the field. With my defender's hand almost on mine and some contact, I snagged a disc across my body and high with a step in bounds before being slammed to the ground. I popped up, to the surprise of my defender who thought he got the D, came back in bounds, pivoted and got fouled, had a zero stall count when I saw Gersh going deep. From the sideline I put up a beauty of a huck that went about 55 yards just out of bounds and with a slight outside in that managed to come back in bounds and just glanced off Gersh's outstretched hand. It's one of my best throws in recent memory.
I believe that was one of only two of my turnovers. The other was a short flick that floated a bit high on me and bounced off Heather's hand. I played less, but I still hope this is a start of a new trend.
The third game was another that we seemed in, but just weren't. Our defensive lines aren't scoring. We're just trading unforced (and sometimes forced) errors. I remember one point where it took us three chances to get into the end zone. We started to see some better handler movement in the third game. I had a decent offensive performance. I got one huck off the brick. My defender was in front of me and there was no help back, so I just took off. The offense seemed to be flowing better and there were a few points that we just marched right up the field. The only problem was that Hyperbole did the same to us. I did get at least one other deep grab. I was wide open and the disc was trailing away. I tracked it down in the back corner of the end zone and left the field fired up saying, "Come on! We can do what we want!" I really think that team is beatable, but we've got more to work on before we get there.
The fourth game was against a tired Dirty People team. Zone defenses were exchanged, but we eventually seemed to wear them down to get a win! By the end it felt like we were running them ragged. It was nice to get a win. That's only my second with the team. I'm looking forward to more. Hope my psoas agrees.
I didn't take time to work out much this past week and I may be paying the price. As my team, Casual Encounters, warmed up yesterday for our one day tournament in Catonsville, I could feel my psoas start to act out. I'd warmed up extra and I thought I was managing it, but yesterday it struck back early. When caught nursing my side with a pained look on my face, I confessed that I may not be quite as ready to play as usual. I could feel pain in my groin. Last time groin pain led to an inability to change direction. It's tough to compete in Ultimate without being able to change direction.
I worked on it on the sidelines as the first game started. I decided it was ok to play and got in a few points. For some reason, and I don't think it was my psoas, our offensive cutters were in the way of one another, me included. It was chaos and fairly frustrating. We still seemed to be hanging around in the game, but we never really challenged the other team. I think I managed to catch a deep score and float a score to Fox, but I don't remember much else beyond the cutting turmoil. My psoas didn't get worse.
Our second game was against the one seed and likely the sectional favorite- Grey. They are athletic and have good throws. I was told I would be mostly sitting in hopes that we could mount a stronger attack in the third game. We were getting beat soundly, but we were fighting hard. The offense started to clean up a bit and everyone was competing. I did manage to get in a few points and make some things happen. I took one cut deep and got a floaty huck from Bruce Wayne. My defender made up the ground on me and a help defender caught up as well. As the three of us ran to position ourselves for the slicing disc to come down, I'm told that my defender uncoiled and began to leap after the disc, but instead he slammed into his teammate. I took a few steps away from the pile and pulled down the score. I played some solid defense against a guy who was running all over the field. He didn't get the disc, but my teammates took delight in telling me that his approach was what it felt like covering me. I just said something to the effect of, "That's exhausting."
My play of the day that wasn't quite, happened late in this game on an in cut across the field. With my defender's hand almost on mine and some contact, I snagged a disc across my body and high with a step in bounds before being slammed to the ground. I popped up, to the surprise of my defender who thought he got the D, came back in bounds, pivoted and got fouled, had a zero stall count when I saw Gersh going deep. From the sideline I put up a beauty of a huck that went about 55 yards just out of bounds and with a slight outside in that managed to come back in bounds and just glanced off Gersh's outstretched hand. It's one of my best throws in recent memory.
I believe that was one of only two of my turnovers. The other was a short flick that floated a bit high on me and bounced off Heather's hand. I played less, but I still hope this is a start of a new trend.
The third game was another that we seemed in, but just weren't. Our defensive lines aren't scoring. We're just trading unforced (and sometimes forced) errors. I remember one point where it took us three chances to get into the end zone. We started to see some better handler movement in the third game. I had a decent offensive performance. I got one huck off the brick. My defender was in front of me and there was no help back, so I just took off. The offense seemed to be flowing better and there were a few points that we just marched right up the field. The only problem was that Hyperbole did the same to us. I did get at least one other deep grab. I was wide open and the disc was trailing away. I tracked it down in the back corner of the end zone and left the field fired up saying, "Come on! We can do what we want!" I really think that team is beatable, but we've got more to work on before we get there.
The fourth game was against a tired Dirty People team. Zone defenses were exchanged, but we eventually seemed to wear them down to get a win! By the end it felt like we were running them ragged. It was nice to get a win. That's only my second with the team. I'm looking forward to more. Hope my psoas agrees.
Friday, June 24, 2011
From home
"Work is what you do, not where you go." Isn't that how the argument for teleworking goes? I'm hesitant to mix my office life with my home life. I go by different names at home and at the office. What if I don't recognize myself?
This week as the offices on my floor were swapped like trading cards, although I'm fairly certain nobody snagged two offices for a McGwire rookie card, I ended up at the desk in my living room doing work.
I pushed back the piles of home, the various notebooks and paperweights that frame my iMac, and I created space to function. Work felt more like art in that moment. I needed surface area to think. The trappings of work, the various grants and manuals filled the recently cleared section of wood, and spilled out into the room. I worked in relative quiet and calm. I worked with focus and purpose.
For a while.
I checked email. I wandered to the fridge. I listened to the songs on iTunes that have been silent since '08. The distractions of home were more complete. Even the Internet at home offered escape unlike the Internet at the office. The guilt free breaks were real and left me ready to return to the projects at hand in full force.
Without the distraction of getting to the office or getting home, I found that I was driven. This was a blessing and a curse yesterday. It meant that I didn't want to stop, I wanted to finish. Only practice could shake me from the work I was doing. My desire to complete was only usurped by a desire to compete, or at least the desire to show up to my previous commitment.
It may have been the new environment that helped propel me. A little off balance, I became more alert and more productive. The jolt may have been short-lived as the pull of the weekend started to wear on me today. I'm off balance in other ways too. My bladder is full from all the water I'm drinking, but my desire to exercise has been minimal. It's as if pitched from my routine, I'd rather gather moss than roll stones.
The moral of this story seems to be about the ebb and flow of productivity and distraction, about the advantages of both the habitual rhythms of life and the kick of falling off that rolling sine wave.
"Work is what you do, not where you go." Isn't that how the argument for teleworking goes? I'm hesitant to mix my office life with my home life. I go by different names at home and at the office. What if I don't recognize myself?
This week as the offices on my floor were swapped like trading cards, although I'm fairly certain nobody snagged two offices for a McGwire rookie card, I ended up at the desk in my living room doing work.
I pushed back the piles of home, the various notebooks and paperweights that frame my iMac, and I created space to function. Work felt more like art in that moment. I needed surface area to think. The trappings of work, the various grants and manuals filled the recently cleared section of wood, and spilled out into the room. I worked in relative quiet and calm. I worked with focus and purpose.
For a while.
I checked email. I wandered to the fridge. I listened to the songs on iTunes that have been silent since '08. The distractions of home were more complete. Even the Internet at home offered escape unlike the Internet at the office. The guilt free breaks were real and left me ready to return to the projects at hand in full force.
Without the distraction of getting to the office or getting home, I found that I was driven. This was a blessing and a curse yesterday. It meant that I didn't want to stop, I wanted to finish. Only practice could shake me from the work I was doing. My desire to complete was only usurped by a desire to compete, or at least the desire to show up to my previous commitment.
It may have been the new environment that helped propel me. A little off balance, I became more alert and more productive. The jolt may have been short-lived as the pull of the weekend started to wear on me today. I'm off balance in other ways too. My bladder is full from all the water I'm drinking, but my desire to exercise has been minimal. It's as if pitched from my routine, I'd rather gather moss than roll stones.
The moral of this story seems to be about the ebb and flow of productivity and distraction, about the advantages of both the habitual rhythms of life and the kick of falling off that rolling sine wave.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Catch the windy spirit and they'll badger you to return
I like to start a vacation with a wedding. There's nothing like lifelong commitment to make a man appreciate a week off from work. This wasn't just any wedding either. This was one of those love stories for the ages. This was an engagement documented heavily on youtube and celebrated for all time or at least a week.
Excuse me, I'll take a break from the wedding to get the cynical fly out of my love stew.
I was in Chicago with C. We were crashing with friends S and A in their new and beautiful home on the Chicago river. The weather wasn't very cooperative and they were entertaining other friends that weekend as well. It rained. There was ping-pong, some bird-feeding, a scrumptious little brunch, and a lot of scrawled notes and missed connections. If it hadn't been a year or two since we'd seen this crowd, I could have sworn that we'd seen them last week and would see them again in a month. Time would play fast and loose like that all week. We bounced in and out of old friends lives. Heck we'd cleared three FARCers before we even got to the wedding.
Speaking of the wedding, I'm back and ready to appreciate the event fully. In case you're counting, and I was, I think this puts me at 25 weddings attended since high school. I'm a fan of weddings and as we approached the interesting venue Salvage One and saw the groomsmen in the street I got excited. (I actually got excited when I put on my tie, but come on, how vain is that?)
Not to worry, the groomsmen weren't playing in traffic. It was a photo shoot. Salvage One is an architectural salvage store. A more accomplished writer with a better memory could describe the venue better, but the foosball table with wooden players was in the back, the giant chandeliers with film strip piping were near the makeshift bar, and the pews were for sale. The wedding itself was a quick event, as my sophomore year roommate wed his high school girlfriend in this the later round of their love. They'd worked hard to get to this point and they knocked out some nice vows, kissed, and sent us upstairs to eat and party.
The reception was gorgeous. The event planner now wife and the art director now husband had their personality seeping throughout and their personalities clearly have class. At least until you view the photo booth pictures. Their DJ was dancing to her own beats. It made me consider a new career while I danced along. The bride and grooms' friends had moves. As we age, I think more people are realizing that they can dance. I went for quantity, because if you can't out-move them, out-move them, if you know what I'm saying. You don't? Well, man the groom's grandma had dance moves like you would not believe. It's a good thing somebody pulled her to the bar before she started planking.
Five FARCers down and Chicago's in the rear view mirror. Madison, WI, we're coming for you. First, we stopped for dinner in a town that seemed to be a series of streets plopped down on a field. We'd visit C's Wisconsin study abroad pals and find her sport, cornhole. And on to Madison.
Madison was so quiet because that very day the Wisconsin college Ultimate team lost in the National finals. C assured me that wasn't the case. Maybe school was out. Maybe the protesters at the state capitol were tired. Maybe no one could believe that we were staying in a hotel. Don't worry, it was only for one night. Madison was sixth street for us. We seemed lost without a tour guide. Even when we enlisted the help of another FARCer, Jenn, over drinks, we just couldn't seem to find our footing as we rambled on B-cycles not unlike the Capital Bikeshare in DC, away from the lake and onto the trail that looked not unlike MKT. Madison to us may have been a collection of places we'd already been.
It may have been the siren call of Fond du Lac that had us distracted. M, K, and their children left the DC area about a year ago and now finally we got to see them again. Their children were bundles of energy. They probably had half the energy in Fond du Lac. I believe M called it a suburb without a big city. I'm pretty sure it had a Wal-Mart. We spent two quiet, other than the sometimes screaming kids, days in Fond du Lac and it reminded me why I love those cats. Bouncing through the playgrounds and chatting at the kitchen table I could have been 18 or 80 and I think I'd still like being around M and K. Those kids are pretty awesome too. They wanted to be tossed, turned, twirled as much as energy would allow. I tried walking lunges and squats, but their turn as dumbbells only seemed to tire me out and leave them wanting more. We even got in a little disc throwing from 5 feet apart. Fond du lac should definitely be closer.
It is closer to Milwaukee and our next stop on the trip. I slept while C drove. This was a vacation pattern that seemed to work heavily in my favor. Another pattern heavily in my favor, was that C let me pick a lot of our activities. We toured the Pabst mansion (that Pabst, of Pabst brewing, did you know he had a mansion? And some seriously interesting germanic tastes? Whoa. Also, servants quarters. Get some.) We had lunch at the Milwaukee market in the historic third ward where the advertising museum has been closed for several years, but the building is for sale in case you're interested. We then made our way to N and J's home for another bout of guest rooming. N and J were excellent hosts and let us bask in the glory of Clifford the Big Red Dog and Elmo. There daughter E may have factored heavily in those television choices.
When Clifford and Elmo were off, we spent our daylight at the Milwaukee art museum, the Lakefront brewery tour, and hanging out in the yard as N checked her veggies. We spent an evening at a gallery viewing too. I can't remember what Alice Cooper said about Milwaukee in Wayne's World, but I can almost guarantee he was right. And then the vacation got real. How do I know? The hosts got a baby sitter to go out on Friday night. I don't know what the going rate for baby sitters is, but I know that N and J got their money's worth. Or I got their money's worth. Or somebody got some money's worth. Look over there- bratwurst. Yum.
10 FARCers in all. Only 217 Facebook friends to go.
I like to start a vacation with a wedding. There's nothing like lifelong commitment to make a man appreciate a week off from work. This wasn't just any wedding either. This was one of those love stories for the ages. This was an engagement documented heavily on youtube and celebrated for all time or at least a week.
Excuse me, I'll take a break from the wedding to get the cynical fly out of my love stew.
I was in Chicago with C. We were crashing with friends S and A in their new and beautiful home on the Chicago river. The weather wasn't very cooperative and they were entertaining other friends that weekend as well. It rained. There was ping-pong, some bird-feeding, a scrumptious little brunch, and a lot of scrawled notes and missed connections. If it hadn't been a year or two since we'd seen this crowd, I could have sworn that we'd seen them last week and would see them again in a month. Time would play fast and loose like that all week. We bounced in and out of old friends lives. Heck we'd cleared three FARCers before we even got to the wedding.
Speaking of the wedding, I'm back and ready to appreciate the event fully. In case you're counting, and I was, I think this puts me at 25 weddings attended since high school. I'm a fan of weddings and as we approached the interesting venue Salvage One and saw the groomsmen in the street I got excited. (I actually got excited when I put on my tie, but come on, how vain is that?)
Not to worry, the groomsmen weren't playing in traffic. It was a photo shoot. Salvage One is an architectural salvage store. A more accomplished writer with a better memory could describe the venue better, but the foosball table with wooden players was in the back, the giant chandeliers with film strip piping were near the makeshift bar, and the pews were for sale. The wedding itself was a quick event, as my sophomore year roommate wed his high school girlfriend in this the later round of their love. They'd worked hard to get to this point and they knocked out some nice vows, kissed, and sent us upstairs to eat and party.
The reception was gorgeous. The event planner now wife and the art director now husband had their personality seeping throughout and their personalities clearly have class. At least until you view the photo booth pictures. Their DJ was dancing to her own beats. It made me consider a new career while I danced along. The bride and grooms' friends had moves. As we age, I think more people are realizing that they can dance. I went for quantity, because if you can't out-move them, out-move them, if you know what I'm saying. You don't? Well, man the groom's grandma had dance moves like you would not believe. It's a good thing somebody pulled her to the bar before she started planking.
Five FARCers down and Chicago's in the rear view mirror. Madison, WI, we're coming for you. First, we stopped for dinner in a town that seemed to be a series of streets plopped down on a field. We'd visit C's Wisconsin study abroad pals and find her sport, cornhole. And on to Madison.
Madison was so quiet because that very day the Wisconsin college Ultimate team lost in the National finals. C assured me that wasn't the case. Maybe school was out. Maybe the protesters at the state capitol were tired. Maybe no one could believe that we were staying in a hotel. Don't worry, it was only for one night. Madison was sixth street for us. We seemed lost without a tour guide. Even when we enlisted the help of another FARCer, Jenn, over drinks, we just couldn't seem to find our footing as we rambled on B-cycles not unlike the Capital Bikeshare in DC, away from the lake and onto the trail that looked not unlike MKT. Madison to us may have been a collection of places we'd already been.
It may have been the siren call of Fond du Lac that had us distracted. M, K, and their children left the DC area about a year ago and now finally we got to see them again. Their children were bundles of energy. They probably had half the energy in Fond du Lac. I believe M called it a suburb without a big city. I'm pretty sure it had a Wal-Mart. We spent two quiet, other than the sometimes screaming kids, days in Fond du Lac and it reminded me why I love those cats. Bouncing through the playgrounds and chatting at the kitchen table I could have been 18 or 80 and I think I'd still like being around M and K. Those kids are pretty awesome too. They wanted to be tossed, turned, twirled as much as energy would allow. I tried walking lunges and squats, but their turn as dumbbells only seemed to tire me out and leave them wanting more. We even got in a little disc throwing from 5 feet apart. Fond du lac should definitely be closer.
It is closer to Milwaukee and our next stop on the trip. I slept while C drove. This was a vacation pattern that seemed to work heavily in my favor. Another pattern heavily in my favor, was that C let me pick a lot of our activities. We toured the Pabst mansion (that Pabst, of Pabst brewing, did you know he had a mansion? And some seriously interesting germanic tastes? Whoa. Also, servants quarters. Get some.) We had lunch at the Milwaukee market in the historic third ward where the advertising museum has been closed for several years, but the building is for sale in case you're interested. We then made our way to N and J's home for another bout of guest rooming. N and J were excellent hosts and let us bask in the glory of Clifford the Big Red Dog and Elmo. There daughter E may have factored heavily in those television choices.
When Clifford and Elmo were off, we spent our daylight at the Milwaukee art museum, the Lakefront brewery tour, and hanging out in the yard as N checked her veggies. We spent an evening at a gallery viewing too. I can't remember what Alice Cooper said about Milwaukee in Wayne's World, but I can almost guarantee he was right. And then the vacation got real. How do I know? The hosts got a baby sitter to go out on Friday night. I don't know what the going rate for baby sitters is, but I know that N and J got their money's worth. Or I got their money's worth. Or somebody got some money's worth. Look over there- bratwurst. Yum.
10 FARCers in all. Only 217 Facebook friends to go.
Tuesday, June 07, 2011
Driftwood
Vacation ended on Saturday, saving airline bucks, but also allowing me to play Ultimate on Sunday. I woke up at 5:30 AM, grabbed a zipcar and drove. Seat dancing was in full swing to keep me awake and driving. Traffic was really light, but it was raining, I was heading to the beach on the day most folks head home and it was really early.
The team seemed happy to see me. It was a changed team from Bell Crack. With about 15 people missing from the final roster, the team was just a third of its previous size. There was plenty of playing time to go around. I felt great. While everyone was dragging around their tired legs, my legs had been touring, floating through the sky, and now were fresh and ready to play.
I made a few mistakes early, even though I'd planned to protect the disc. I had an immediate drop as the dewy disc slid through my hands. I tossed away two dump throws, one because the handler wasn't in position yet and one because he wasn't headed where I expected. I tossed away two other throws that I really want back in that first game as well. I was excited and zipped them in. One was better than the other, but both were inside and overzealous.
We couldn't find a way to win, so the team went 3-4 on the weekend, but I was mostly proud of the way we were playing and it was nice to start to get a feel for what people like to do. I'm excited to keep that process going.
I had a few highlights that I'm proud of. I positioned myself on a floaty huck and came down with a grab. I had some help D's where I got to sky some ladies. My two best plays came in our last game though. I caught a huck and called time out. We set up an iso play to Karpo, but I couldn't find space I was happy with, so Andy, my current favorite handler wheeled around behind me for the dump. I flipped something a little too close to a push-pass to him and then headed up line on that force side. He sent me to the edge of the end zone, but I was able to plant my foot in bounds and make the grab before I stepped out.
The other play was also in the end zone. The vertical stack was a mess. The cutters weren't getting open, or when we did, we were still five yards out of the end zone. The handlers worked it and sometimes got it to a cutter, who flipped it back to them. It was the end of a hot day, so this seems like it went on for minutes. I made a force side cut from the back of the stack and had a little bit of daylight. My defender was close and pretty speedy. Bruce Wayne fired the disc at me. The defender was well positioned to make a play, but I was able to reach forward and grab the disc for the score. It was nice to get one of those. I feel like I'm on the end of that sort of thing a lot. Maybe it's more noticeable from the other end.
More Ultimate tales to come. I'm pretty pleased with how the season is going so far. Winning hasn't been the thing for a while now. I'd like to win, but it's fun to play, make new friends, and build something together. Meanwhile, the psoas seems to be holding out. I'm working out and massaging it quite regularly. It's been manageable and I hope it will stay that way.
For the non-sports fans, I may have a vacation recap rattling around in my head somewhere. Maybe I'll be able to squeeze it out.
Vacation ended on Saturday, saving airline bucks, but also allowing me to play Ultimate on Sunday. I woke up at 5:30 AM, grabbed a zipcar and drove. Seat dancing was in full swing to keep me awake and driving. Traffic was really light, but it was raining, I was heading to the beach on the day most folks head home and it was really early.
The team seemed happy to see me. It was a changed team from Bell Crack. With about 15 people missing from the final roster, the team was just a third of its previous size. There was plenty of playing time to go around. I felt great. While everyone was dragging around their tired legs, my legs had been touring, floating through the sky, and now were fresh and ready to play.
I made a few mistakes early, even though I'd planned to protect the disc. I had an immediate drop as the dewy disc slid through my hands. I tossed away two dump throws, one because the handler wasn't in position yet and one because he wasn't headed where I expected. I tossed away two other throws that I really want back in that first game as well. I was excited and zipped them in. One was better than the other, but both were inside and overzealous.
We couldn't find a way to win, so the team went 3-4 on the weekend, but I was mostly proud of the way we were playing and it was nice to start to get a feel for what people like to do. I'm excited to keep that process going.
I had a few highlights that I'm proud of. I positioned myself on a floaty huck and came down with a grab. I had some help D's where I got to sky some ladies. My two best plays came in our last game though. I caught a huck and called time out. We set up an iso play to Karpo, but I couldn't find space I was happy with, so Andy, my current favorite handler wheeled around behind me for the dump. I flipped something a little too close to a push-pass to him and then headed up line on that force side. He sent me to the edge of the end zone, but I was able to plant my foot in bounds and make the grab before I stepped out.
The other play was also in the end zone. The vertical stack was a mess. The cutters weren't getting open, or when we did, we were still five yards out of the end zone. The handlers worked it and sometimes got it to a cutter, who flipped it back to them. It was the end of a hot day, so this seems like it went on for minutes. I made a force side cut from the back of the stack and had a little bit of daylight. My defender was close and pretty speedy. Bruce Wayne fired the disc at me. The defender was well positioned to make a play, but I was able to reach forward and grab the disc for the score. It was nice to get one of those. I feel like I'm on the end of that sort of thing a lot. Maybe it's more noticeable from the other end.
More Ultimate tales to come. I'm pretty pleased with how the season is going so far. Winning hasn't been the thing for a while now. I'd like to win, but it's fun to play, make new friends, and build something together. Meanwhile, the psoas seems to be holding out. I'm working out and massaging it quite regularly. It's been manageable and I hope it will stay that way.
For the non-sports fans, I may have a vacation recap rattling around in my head somewhere. Maybe I'll be able to squeeze it out.
Monday, June 06, 2011
Five fingers, five toes
I finally ran in my Vibram five finger shoes. I've been walking in them a few times a week for a while. I work out in them, but I hadn't been on a run. They work my ankle support muscles and my calves, even on a walk. For the run, I was tentative at first. I found a park near Chicago. The ground was soft, a little muddy even. I warmed up properly. I trotted through the grass. I delicately placed my feet. I avoided tree roots and watched for drunkard's glass. I gingerly stepped over asphalt and sidewalk and tried to stay on the path. The single track wound around the way. I chased it and got more comfortable with the run. I sped up. My strides didn't lengthen, they had to quicken. My heels grazed the ground. My ankle creaked, but on I sped over grass and mud. Stepping lightly again over asphalt and concrete. Pace quickening. Choppy stops. Up the muddy hill I ran. All my toes engaged. I felt balanced even in the slippery conditions. I wrapped it up in 20 minutes. My calves and hamstrings both felt used. My shoes were wet with mud and sweat.
Man, do they stink now.
I finally ran in my Vibram five finger shoes. I've been walking in them a few times a week for a while. I work out in them, but I hadn't been on a run. They work my ankle support muscles and my calves, even on a walk. For the run, I was tentative at first. I found a park near Chicago. The ground was soft, a little muddy even. I warmed up properly. I trotted through the grass. I delicately placed my feet. I avoided tree roots and watched for drunkard's glass. I gingerly stepped over asphalt and sidewalk and tried to stay on the path. The single track wound around the way. I chased it and got more comfortable with the run. I sped up. My strides didn't lengthen, they had to quicken. My heels grazed the ground. My ankle creaked, but on I sped over grass and mud. Stepping lightly again over asphalt and concrete. Pace quickening. Choppy stops. Up the muddy hill I ran. All my toes engaged. I felt balanced even in the slippery conditions. I wrapped it up in 20 minutes. My calves and hamstrings both felt used. My shoes were wet with mud and sweat.
Man, do they stink now.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Bell Crack
I’ve been to about 10 Ultimate tournaments in the past year, but other than Wildwood on the beach, I don’t know when I last traveled and stayed over night at a tournament I played. It felt odd at first to be at Bell Crack in PA. There were new faces and new names to learn. The setting felt familiar and yet I felt somehow out of place. It wasn’t one or two new names and faces either. It was more like 20. I’d picked up a few names at try-outs, but for the most part I am still learning.
On Saturday, we played like a team of strangers. There were a few moments where the team worked together, but a lot of moments where we looked lost and confused. Our results would reflect our struggle. We lost all three games and none were particularly close. Each contained pretty significant lapses where we fell behind. In two games, we were beaten by a star and a reasonable supporting cast. Individually we matched up pretty well, but overall we were failing. There is much room to grow.
The cup of our zone forced a floaty throwaway in one game that led to an easy Callahan. I was in the right place to make that score. The sidelines enjoyed it immensely. I handled a bit and was frustrated by two throwaways one to a popper in the cup that just seemed to be about confusion over the open space and one through the cup that was all about letting a backhand sail too high to a cross field handler. My favorite point on Saturday was also my most exhausting. One of my new teammates also played on a Rec league team I captained some time ago. I know he likes to huck. He knows I like to run. It works out well, sometimes. His first put in the zone was perfect, except that a speedy deep defender had more speed than we realized. By the time I knew that the defender was coming, I couldn’t adjust and we were back on defense. The second put was down the line, shorter, maybe 20-30 yards, but it didn’t come in bounds. It hovered a few feet out. I toed the line, laid out and tried to tap it over my shoulder on a greatest attempt. It wasn’t my greatest greatest attempt, I admit. Finally, we connected on a deep shot almost like the first one. This time the deep defender didn’t get there in time. I was fortunate that between at least one of these points, my opponent chose not to do much running because I was breathing heavily and trying to recover.
I think my experience with Andy from Rec league was helpful, because it allowed others to see me as a deep threat. I had a fair amount of success on the in-cuts as well and I felt like I was able to play some pretty good D, although I think my mark was lacking somewhat. Karpo called me “grease” for any offensive line, which was a nice compliment. I had a few more throwaways, maybe 6 in all, and I was D’d once on an in cut. That’s far too many turnovers, but I’m a little rusty. I feel like I’m not moving as well with the disc as I used to and I also thought that defenders were more likely to take away the lane. I need to work on exploiting that with break looks or dump movement. I did get off one huck that I was pretty pleased with, but it floated just a little too long and got knocked down.
On Day 2, I feel like my highs were higher and my lows were lower. I bid multiple times on Sunday on defense. On one I connected, but the disc spun up into the air and my receiver came down with it. Vowing to catch the next one, I all but had my hand around it and yet somehow the receiver still came up with it. I’ll have to work out those kinks.
My hamstrings were really sore all weekend, but especially on Sunday. My concern over my recurring psoas injury was also increasing. I had a sweet grab early on a disc trailing away from me. I grabbed the trailing edge and then turned and threw (a really shaky throw) for the score. I called a foul, but I’m not sure it was much of a foul. The defender laid out in front of me and hit my hand just a bit. I think I was startled as much as anything.
In the same point that my D failed, my offense left me too. Chasing down a floaty huck, I jumped too early once, recovered, and as I jumped a second time a woman from the other team flashed past. I took my eye off the disc and it bounced off my hands.
Obviously, I still have some work to do to get back up to game speed. I did catch our only game winner though. After a turn, I sprinted toward the end zone figuring Andy would put it. He hadn’t reached the disc, so I took off sprinting for the in cut, caught his eye, and changed direction. He floated a bender into space. I jumped up and grabbed it. It felt good to get a victory.
Two other cool moments: I spotted a college teammate and a former Schaefer teammate on the fields. It was a nice treat to see them both. More Ultimate to come.
I’ve been to about 10 Ultimate tournaments in the past year, but other than Wildwood on the beach, I don’t know when I last traveled and stayed over night at a tournament I played. It felt odd at first to be at Bell Crack in PA. There were new faces and new names to learn. The setting felt familiar and yet I felt somehow out of place. It wasn’t one or two new names and faces either. It was more like 20. I’d picked up a few names at try-outs, but for the most part I am still learning.
On Saturday, we played like a team of strangers. There were a few moments where the team worked together, but a lot of moments where we looked lost and confused. Our results would reflect our struggle. We lost all three games and none were particularly close. Each contained pretty significant lapses where we fell behind. In two games, we were beaten by a star and a reasonable supporting cast. Individually we matched up pretty well, but overall we were failing. There is much room to grow.
The cup of our zone forced a floaty throwaway in one game that led to an easy Callahan. I was in the right place to make that score. The sidelines enjoyed it immensely. I handled a bit and was frustrated by two throwaways one to a popper in the cup that just seemed to be about confusion over the open space and one through the cup that was all about letting a backhand sail too high to a cross field handler. My favorite point on Saturday was also my most exhausting. One of my new teammates also played on a Rec league team I captained some time ago. I know he likes to huck. He knows I like to run. It works out well, sometimes. His first put in the zone was perfect, except that a speedy deep defender had more speed than we realized. By the time I knew that the defender was coming, I couldn’t adjust and we were back on defense. The second put was down the line, shorter, maybe 20-30 yards, but it didn’t come in bounds. It hovered a few feet out. I toed the line, laid out and tried to tap it over my shoulder on a greatest attempt. It wasn’t my greatest greatest attempt, I admit. Finally, we connected on a deep shot almost like the first one. This time the deep defender didn’t get there in time. I was fortunate that between at least one of these points, my opponent chose not to do much running because I was breathing heavily and trying to recover.
I think my experience with Andy from Rec league was helpful, because it allowed others to see me as a deep threat. I had a fair amount of success on the in-cuts as well and I felt like I was able to play some pretty good D, although I think my mark was lacking somewhat. Karpo called me “grease” for any offensive line, which was a nice compliment. I had a few more throwaways, maybe 6 in all, and I was D’d once on an in cut. That’s far too many turnovers, but I’m a little rusty. I feel like I’m not moving as well with the disc as I used to and I also thought that defenders were more likely to take away the lane. I need to work on exploiting that with break looks or dump movement. I did get off one huck that I was pretty pleased with, but it floated just a little too long and got knocked down.
On Day 2, I feel like my highs were higher and my lows were lower. I bid multiple times on Sunday on defense. On one I connected, but the disc spun up into the air and my receiver came down with it. Vowing to catch the next one, I all but had my hand around it and yet somehow the receiver still came up with it. I’ll have to work out those kinks.
My hamstrings were really sore all weekend, but especially on Sunday. My concern over my recurring psoas injury was also increasing. I had a sweet grab early on a disc trailing away from me. I grabbed the trailing edge and then turned and threw (a really shaky throw) for the score. I called a foul, but I’m not sure it was much of a foul. The defender laid out in front of me and hit my hand just a bit. I think I was startled as much as anything.
In the same point that my D failed, my offense left me too. Chasing down a floaty huck, I jumped too early once, recovered, and as I jumped a second time a woman from the other team flashed past. I took my eye off the disc and it bounced off my hands.
Obviously, I still have some work to do to get back up to game speed. I did catch our only game winner though. After a turn, I sprinted toward the end zone figuring Andy would put it. He hadn’t reached the disc, so I took off sprinting for the in cut, caught his eye, and changed direction. He floated a bender into space. I jumped up and grabbed it. It felt good to get a victory.
Two other cool moments: I spotted a college teammate and a former Schaefer teammate on the fields. It was a nice treat to see them both. More Ultimate to come.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Other things cooking (more Ultimate)
I've got about six things that I've been meaning to post. Let me give the short version here and see if I can find my way back.
1. Vibram Five Fingers- I bought a pair after serious (for me) shopping. I haven't run in them yet, but so far I'm pleased. I like the theory of minimalist running.
2. Paul's Boston success- I followed along on a combination of Twitter, Facebook, and alerts from the race itself. It was this weird collective but lonely experience. It reminded me of the Internet.
3. Conference for Habit- The men had an up and down tournament, but beat Navy twice, once in a wild nail biter where a 9-2 lead became a 9-8 lead, became a 12-8 lead, became a 15-13 victory. That was the third place game. It turned out 4 of the 6 teams went on to Regionals, but at the time we thought it was only going to be three. It was the first D-III Conference after the reorganization. I'm giving it mixed reviews with Regionals coming up this weekend.
4. Regionals for the women- I didn't get to watch, but they held seed in a tiny five team region with only one bid to Nationals. Injury and absence proved difficult, but I think lessons were learned.
5. Elections and awards for Habit. It was a wacky fun night, but the Andrew Stillerman freshman of the year award went to Rich and the newly created Tada Gan Irracht award went to Ben who would also be named captain. There were senior cakes, hilarious underclassmen awards, and good fun as well.
6. Some combination of regionals, trying out for a team, and what I feel about next year. I still want the job as Ultimate coach, but I'm wondering if I'm the right fit. More discussion and reflection (at least in real life) on that to come. Leaning toward a mid-level mixed team, but haven't fully committed.
More later. Maybe.
I've got about six things that I've been meaning to post. Let me give the short version here and see if I can find my way back.
1. Vibram Five Fingers- I bought a pair after serious (for me) shopping. I haven't run in them yet, but so far I'm pleased. I like the theory of minimalist running.
2. Paul's Boston success- I followed along on a combination of Twitter, Facebook, and alerts from the race itself. It was this weird collective but lonely experience. It reminded me of the Internet.
3. Conference for Habit- The men had an up and down tournament, but beat Navy twice, once in a wild nail biter where a 9-2 lead became a 9-8 lead, became a 12-8 lead, became a 15-13 victory. That was the third place game. It turned out 4 of the 6 teams went on to Regionals, but at the time we thought it was only going to be three. It was the first D-III Conference after the reorganization. I'm giving it mixed reviews with Regionals coming up this weekend.
4. Regionals for the women- I didn't get to watch, but they held seed in a tiny five team region with only one bid to Nationals. Injury and absence proved difficult, but I think lessons were learned.
5. Elections and awards for Habit. It was a wacky fun night, but the Andrew Stillerman freshman of the year award went to Rich and the newly created Tada Gan Irracht award went to Ben who would also be named captain. There were senior cakes, hilarious underclassmen awards, and good fun as well.
6. Some combination of regionals, trying out for a team, and what I feel about next year. I still want the job as Ultimate coach, but I'm wondering if I'm the right fit. More discussion and reflection (at least in real life) on that to come. Leaning toward a mid-level mixed team, but haven't fully committed.
More later. Maybe.
All Time again
I wanted to detail my thoughts around the all-time list a little more.
Alan was a force. His place seems relatively assured on this list for some time. He was a force on the field with HUGE throws to seemingly any point and he willed the team as far as he could take them. He made everyone better and was undoubtedly the reason that some people stuck around when times were lean. As you know, he's appeared many times on this blog and I'm biased because he's my good friend, but I don't think anyone could disagree with his spot on this list.
Jared was a grad student and already a club level player when he joined us. He was mainly a tournament player, but he had a solid all around game and a great mind for strategy. He is definitely deserving of a spot on the list.
The third handler position is a tough choice:
Scrapper- I never saw him play in college, but I met him soon after. He was a club level player or soon would be and his throws were improving to match his athleticism. From what I'm told he really helped the team in his years there and was often the offense. It's hard to tell where he belongs on this list, but it's hard to imagine leaving him off.
John T. - He was a reluctant leader, but he and his three pals were the ones who decided that they should cut ties with wafc and really start trying to play in the series and compete regularly with other schools. Not the most athletic of players, he was a gifted thrower and a trusted handler. His play and the way he elevated the team and made them compete makes him deserving of a place on this list.
Pete came from high school having played for several years. He had been a cutter, but we immediately made him a handler because he could throw. He was out of his comfort zone, but he held his own in a supporting role and we counted on him to do that. It never quite felt like we let Pete get comfortable, but the team was always better with him there. If I had to make a cut, he would probably be the one right now even though I'd hate to see his effort on defense go.
Many of our cutters have had some trouble throwing.
Arin was a playmaker. I'm not sure how he feels about Ultimate and he's probably the most incomplete player on this list, but if you needed something to happen, Arin made it happen through size, force, and will. It was awesome.
Lemon is a playmaker in his own way. He doesn't have the size of Arin, but he's got brains and speed. He's been slowed by injuries, but he plays as much as his body allows and maybe a little more. He's been the heart of the team for two years now and his hands have improved and he knows how to pick his spots. He needs to be able to throw better, but he definitely deserves a spot on the list.
Paul is only a sophomore, already a captain and an awesome athlete. He can huck it a mile, jump as high, and has speed to go with that. He's on this list and he's another who will remain for a long time. We're going to squeeze out some more leadership from him and help him raise the games of those around him, but he's an incredible individual player.
The 4th cutter grouping is hotly contested and would be a tough decision.
Karpo had speed and hands. He was Lemon before there was a Lemon. He couldn't do much throwing, but he chased them down regularly. His efforts on D were all out and he kept coming at you. He was the perfect complement to John and that class.
Stills was a scoring machine. He found ways to get open. His lefty flicks were a little scary, but he worked hard to get better and he was a great teammate when he wanted to be. His ability to find a whole in the zone was uncanny.
Jimmy is a dark horse in my mind, but he had excellent hands and could pick his spots, especially in zone. He did it with less speed, but a good field sense. His hard throws in college just about drove me mad though.
I wanted to detail my thoughts around the all-time list a little more.
Alan was a force. His place seems relatively assured on this list for some time. He was a force on the field with HUGE throws to seemingly any point and he willed the team as far as he could take them. He made everyone better and was undoubtedly the reason that some people stuck around when times were lean. As you know, he's appeared many times on this blog and I'm biased because he's my good friend, but I don't think anyone could disagree with his spot on this list.
Jared was a grad student and already a club level player when he joined us. He was mainly a tournament player, but he had a solid all around game and a great mind for strategy. He is definitely deserving of a spot on the list.
The third handler position is a tough choice:
Scrapper- I never saw him play in college, but I met him soon after. He was a club level player or soon would be and his throws were improving to match his athleticism. From what I'm told he really helped the team in his years there and was often the offense. It's hard to tell where he belongs on this list, but it's hard to imagine leaving him off.
John T. - He was a reluctant leader, but he and his three pals were the ones who decided that they should cut ties with wafc and really start trying to play in the series and compete regularly with other schools. Not the most athletic of players, he was a gifted thrower and a trusted handler. His play and the way he elevated the team and made them compete makes him deserving of a place on this list.
Pete came from high school having played for several years. He had been a cutter, but we immediately made him a handler because he could throw. He was out of his comfort zone, but he held his own in a supporting role and we counted on him to do that. It never quite felt like we let Pete get comfortable, but the team was always better with him there. If I had to make a cut, he would probably be the one right now even though I'd hate to see his effort on defense go.
Many of our cutters have had some trouble throwing.
Arin was a playmaker. I'm not sure how he feels about Ultimate and he's probably the most incomplete player on this list, but if you needed something to happen, Arin made it happen through size, force, and will. It was awesome.
Lemon is a playmaker in his own way. He doesn't have the size of Arin, but he's got brains and speed. He's been slowed by injuries, but he plays as much as his body allows and maybe a little more. He's been the heart of the team for two years now and his hands have improved and he knows how to pick his spots. He needs to be able to throw better, but he definitely deserves a spot on the list.
Paul is only a sophomore, already a captain and an awesome athlete. He can huck it a mile, jump as high, and has speed to go with that. He's on this list and he's another who will remain for a long time. We're going to squeeze out some more leadership from him and help him raise the games of those around him, but he's an incredible individual player.
The 4th cutter grouping is hotly contested and would be a tough decision.
Karpo had speed and hands. He was Lemon before there was a Lemon. He couldn't do much throwing, but he chased them down regularly. His efforts on D were all out and he kept coming at you. He was the perfect complement to John and that class.
Stills was a scoring machine. He found ways to get open. His lefty flicks were a little scary, but he worked hard to get better and he was a great teammate when he wanted to be. His ability to find a whole in the zone was uncanny.
Jimmy is a dark horse in my mind, but he had excellent hands and could pick his spots, especially in zone. He did it with less speed, but a good field sense. His hard throws in college just about drove me mad though.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Alumni game number 4
I wanted to get this on my blog and in my record of memory. The alumni game was a success. I spent a lot of time taking pictures and flitting among old friends. Following is my post-game note and write up.
"Thanks again for making the 4th annual alumni game a success! Thanks especially to Mark K for his generous support of the BBQ. Thanks to Tini for hosting. And thanks to all those who helped to organize teams, cook brats, direct traffic, cheer, and wait patiently to play.
In a break from tradition, we played three round robin games with a mixture of alums, students and guests sharing the field and the teams. We saw some great highlights in those games which ended with each team 1 and 1. One particular stand out for me was the Brian Heller huck to a sliding, diving Law School Pat. Other great moments included Tim Crowley diving around the field, Jimmy DeMartini directing traffic, Lemon hucking, and Sean Dorsy holstering a biscuit. Turned out he was actually saving up for a chicken wing for the score later. That's more like the Dorsy we know.
Even with a BBQ looming, almost everyone wanted to keep playing so we undertook the traditional alums vs. current team game. Planning a shortened game to 9, the game picked up where we've left off in previous years. The alums started out moving the disc well and working well together. Some wondered if the warm-up games had been in the alums favor, but later they'd claim the games had tired them out. The alums took half 5-4 and it looked like this might be the year they'd break out of their slump. Sam was unstoppable underneath and Jim McMahon was diving all over the place to get some sweet D's, but he couldn't find anyone on the other end of his hucks.
The current team struck back quickly and re-established a lead. With a nod toward strategy, the alums pulled out a zone in the second half. It created a few turns, but the momentum had shifted. Frodo ran the offense and really had the alums talking on the sidelines. Jen tracked down some hucks. Then with some snappy disc movement and some forced hucks, the current team ran their record to 4-0 by taking the game 9-7.
At the BBQ the conversation shifted to an all-time all-Catholic team. It was a lively, friendly, and fun discussion and I'll hope you take it that way. Remember that the crowd skews younger with '02 or '03 being the earliest class represented. The rules of the All-Catholic team were spotty, but everyone did agree that only play at Catholic, not later development should be counted. With that in mind, the proposed all-time all-Catholic team looked like this.
The three handlers would be Alan J, Jared A, and either Pete W, John T, or Scrapper Woods.
The four cutters would be: Arin H, Andy "Lemon" , Paul G, and either Mike "Karpo" , or Andrew "Stills" . (Added: There was also some lobbying for Jimmy D and his good hands as a cutter.)
The important lesson in this for young players out there is that if you want to be considered for the all-time team, you should use your last name to create a nickname.
All in good fun! Thanks again to everyone. This is a fantastic tradition and I really appreciate your support!"
I found the all-time CUA team discussion to be particularly interesting, since I have/had seen the most players in action out of anybody. What I found really difficult was to compare the players who really never played together. It's so hard to tell if a player who carried the team in one year would have had that same effect in other years. How much did teammates have an effect? Even that question has two meanings. In some cases teammates surely made each other better, but in another context it also meant that a stand-out in one year might have been part of the crowd in another.
I think others had their own problems with this discussion too. Freshmen from four years ago had seniors that they looked up to and in some cases had seen evolve in the DC Ultimate scene. Karpo was initially named as one of the starting handlers until several others jumped in to say that in college he was barely allowed to throw.
I'm sure there are others who go back into the late '90s and early '00s and the early formation of the team that should be considered, but no one was at the game to champion them. There's been a pretty big shift in the game over those years and a shift on the support and interest of the university, so who knows?
It's a fun discussion.
I wanted to get this on my blog and in my record of memory. The alumni game was a success. I spent a lot of time taking pictures and flitting among old friends. Following is my post-game note and write up.
"Thanks again for making the 4th annual alumni game a success! Thanks especially to Mark K for his generous support of the BBQ. Thanks to Tini for hosting. And thanks to all those who helped to organize teams, cook brats, direct traffic, cheer, and wait patiently to play.
In a break from tradition, we played three round robin games with a mixture of alums, students and guests sharing the field and the teams. We saw some great highlights in those games which ended with each team 1 and 1. One particular stand out for me was the Brian Heller huck to a sliding, diving Law School Pat. Other great moments included Tim Crowley diving around the field, Jimmy DeMartini directing traffic, Lemon hucking, and Sean Dorsy holstering a biscuit. Turned out he was actually saving up for a chicken wing for the score later. That's more like the Dorsy we know.
Even with a BBQ looming, almost everyone wanted to keep playing so we undertook the traditional alums vs. current team game. Planning a shortened game to 9, the game picked up where we've left off in previous years. The alums started out moving the disc well and working well together. Some wondered if the warm-up games had been in the alums favor, but later they'd claim the games had tired them out. The alums took half 5-4 and it looked like this might be the year they'd break out of their slump. Sam was unstoppable underneath and Jim McMahon was diving all over the place to get some sweet D's, but he couldn't find anyone on the other end of his hucks.
The current team struck back quickly and re-established a lead. With a nod toward strategy, the alums pulled out a zone in the second half. It created a few turns, but the momentum had shifted. Frodo ran the offense and really had the alums talking on the sidelines. Jen tracked down some hucks. Then with some snappy disc movement and some forced hucks, the current team ran their record to 4-0 by taking the game 9-7.
At the BBQ the conversation shifted to an all-time all-Catholic team. It was a lively, friendly, and fun discussion and I'll hope you take it that way. Remember that the crowd skews younger with '02 or '03 being the earliest class represented. The rules of the All-Catholic team were spotty, but everyone did agree that only play at Catholic, not later development should be counted. With that in mind, the proposed all-time all-Catholic team looked like this.
The three handlers would be Alan J, Jared A, and either Pete W, John T, or Scrapper Woods.
The four cutters would be: Arin H, Andy "Lemon" , Paul G, and either Mike "Karpo" , or Andrew "Stills" . (Added: There was also some lobbying for Jimmy D and his good hands as a cutter.)
The important lesson in this for young players out there is that if you want to be considered for the all-time team, you should use your last name to create a nickname.
All in good fun! Thanks again to everyone. This is a fantastic tradition and I really appreciate your support!"
I found the all-time CUA team discussion to be particularly interesting, since I have/had seen the most players in action out of anybody. What I found really difficult was to compare the players who really never played together. It's so hard to tell if a player who carried the team in one year would have had that same effect in other years. How much did teammates have an effect? Even that question has two meanings. In some cases teammates surely made each other better, but in another context it also meant that a stand-out in one year might have been part of the crowd in another.
I think others had their own problems with this discussion too. Freshmen from four years ago had seniors that they looked up to and in some cases had seen evolve in the DC Ultimate scene. Karpo was initially named as one of the starting handlers until several others jumped in to say that in college he was barely allowed to throw.
I'm sure there are others who go back into the late '90s and early '00s and the early formation of the team that should be considered, but no one was at the game to champion them. There's been a pretty big shift in the game over those years and a shift on the support and interest of the university, so who knows?
It's a fun discussion.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Three point five thoughts from a full weekend
Last weekend I patrolled the sidelines of Steakfest '11. For a while I tried to update scores by smartphone, but eventually lost interest. The guys ended up in 14th place. They were troubled by only having 9 players and eventually losing their star to a hamstring pull in game 2 on Sunday. They had a 2-6 record, but one key victory in a crossover game to make it to the championship bracket. They beat Cornell-B and Ursinis and lost to Georgetown, Columbia (x2), TCNJ, and American. They narrowly missed upsetting Georgetown in the windy opening game. They had two shots on universe point and one of those bounced off Lemon's outstretched hands (See how close they came here .) The girls ended up in 2nd place, going 5-2 with both of their losses coming to TCNJ. John G. was patrolling their sidelines and got good reviews. The girls dominated a few games notching victories of 15-0 and 15-1 and from the bits I saw are really starting to play some Ultimate.
There is much I could comment on, including how proud of everybody I am, but there are a few moments that I'm going to record for posterity.
The first is about Ben. Ben is a transfer and he's our secret weapon. He's started to catch everything, he cuts well, and he just keeps getting better. He's got a little hitch in his throw and he doesn't commit to the dump the way I think he should (shocking, I know), but he's really helping out the team. After making another fine grab, Ben is five yards out of the endzone. The count gets to nine. Ben just decides to get rid of the disc. Somehow his flick comes out vertical. It's a blade. The blade strikes a defender in the noggin, bounces or rolls over the defender's head and is caught by a diving Cocco. It was pure wackiness.
The second is about spiking the disc. In the championship game, down something like 12-4 and feeling frustrated, Super Jess makes a deep cut. Knockout throws a nice flick down the line, Jess jumps up and grabs it. Score. She comes down and spikes it hard on the ground. It's a celebration, but there's some angst in there. The game is observed, so I think that's held off some of the ugliness, but there's still a clear distaste forming between these two teams. Next point, the girl from TCNJ makes a grab and spikes the disc in clear retaliation. For a second everyone stops. It's shock or confusion or some combination of the two. A little chatter starts and then what's been observed is reflected by the observer. TCNJ girl was not in the endzone. Turnover. The sidelines guffaw. It's inconsequential as far as the outcome of the game, but not a moment I want to soon forget.
My final note on Manheim, PA is to say that other than the RV in Dallas, I've never stayed closer to a field. We walked out of the hotel and onto the fields. We could see the fields from our room. I don't expect that luxury regularly, but how sweet it can be.
Now, I want to play. I want my shins to stop hurting. Let's go.
Last weekend I patrolled the sidelines of Steakfest '11. For a while I tried to update scores by smartphone, but eventually lost interest. The guys ended up in 14th place. They were troubled by only having 9 players and eventually losing their star to a hamstring pull in game 2 on Sunday. They had a 2-6 record, but one key victory in a crossover game to make it to the championship bracket. They beat Cornell-B and Ursinis and lost to Georgetown, Columbia (x2), TCNJ, and American. They narrowly missed upsetting Georgetown in the windy opening game. They had two shots on universe point and one of those bounced off Lemon's outstretched hands (See how close they came here .) The girls ended up in 2nd place, going 5-2 with both of their losses coming to TCNJ. John G. was patrolling their sidelines and got good reviews. The girls dominated a few games notching victories of 15-0 and 15-1 and from the bits I saw are really starting to play some Ultimate.
There is much I could comment on, including how proud of everybody I am, but there are a few moments that I'm going to record for posterity.
The first is about Ben. Ben is a transfer and he's our secret weapon. He's started to catch everything, he cuts well, and he just keeps getting better. He's got a little hitch in his throw and he doesn't commit to the dump the way I think he should (shocking, I know), but he's really helping out the team. After making another fine grab, Ben is five yards out of the endzone. The count gets to nine. Ben just decides to get rid of the disc. Somehow his flick comes out vertical. It's a blade. The blade strikes a defender in the noggin, bounces or rolls over the defender's head and is caught by a diving Cocco. It was pure wackiness.
The second is about spiking the disc. In the championship game, down something like 12-4 and feeling frustrated, Super Jess makes a deep cut. Knockout throws a nice flick down the line, Jess jumps up and grabs it. Score. She comes down and spikes it hard on the ground. It's a celebration, but there's some angst in there. The game is observed, so I think that's held off some of the ugliness, but there's still a clear distaste forming between these two teams. Next point, the girl from TCNJ makes a grab and spikes the disc in clear retaliation. For a second everyone stops. It's shock or confusion or some combination of the two. A little chatter starts and then what's been observed is reflected by the observer. TCNJ girl was not in the endzone. Turnover. The sidelines guffaw. It's inconsequential as far as the outcome of the game, but not a moment I want to soon forget.
My final note on Manheim, PA is to say that other than the RV in Dallas, I've never stayed closer to a field. We walked out of the hotel and onto the fields. We could see the fields from our room. I don't expect that luxury regularly, but how sweet it can be.
Now, I want to play. I want my shins to stop hurting. Let's go.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Inheriting a car for a month
Giving up my car several years ago was a triumph of public transportation and good sense. I've made the most of it for many years. I've biked, grabbed rides from gracious friends, taken the Metro, participated in car-sharing, and perhaps stayed a little closer to home. Last month after C went down with a broken leg, her car suddenly became very available. I couldn't resist its lure. As the temperatures hovered just above freezing and the Ultimate practices hovered just before bed time, I borrowed the car on a regular basis. At 8 o'clock at night and beyond, the car was a treat to warmly whisk me to practice and home again.
Unfortunately, it wasn't all evening back street driving. Clare also asked me to drive her a few places. Those adventures didn't go as well. The hour was usually day time and the traffic was thicker than I like my milkshakes. I don't have a great sense of direction anyway, but having a passenger who would rather be driving only made my misdirection seem more severe. All my reasons for choosing to be mostly car-less came rushing back. I think what Sartre really meant was, Hell is other people- in cars. In this city there are just too many cars vying for too little space. Then they want to park too.
It has been a great relief to return to my bike. Yes, I often feel that I'm going to be crushed under the weight of a giant unfeeling steel and plexiglass box on wheels, but at least I'm going to go out with a sense of freedom and control.
Part II
Although Clare has reclaimed her car, this experience has made me realize that in the world of car-less, I no longer fully count. I'm not pure. I do have more access than before. I live in a household with a car. At some point in my life, I think this blurring of the line would have bothered me greatly. Now, I acknowledge it, but I'm going to go about my business. Also, I think I'll go for a bike ride.
Giving up my car several years ago was a triumph of public transportation and good sense. I've made the most of it for many years. I've biked, grabbed rides from gracious friends, taken the Metro, participated in car-sharing, and perhaps stayed a little closer to home. Last month after C went down with a broken leg, her car suddenly became very available. I couldn't resist its lure. As the temperatures hovered just above freezing and the Ultimate practices hovered just before bed time, I borrowed the car on a regular basis. At 8 o'clock at night and beyond, the car was a treat to warmly whisk me to practice and home again.
Unfortunately, it wasn't all evening back street driving. Clare also asked me to drive her a few places. Those adventures didn't go as well. The hour was usually day time and the traffic was thicker than I like my milkshakes. I don't have a great sense of direction anyway, but having a passenger who would rather be driving only made my misdirection seem more severe. All my reasons for choosing to be mostly car-less came rushing back. I think what Sartre really meant was, Hell is other people- in cars. In this city there are just too many cars vying for too little space. Then they want to park too.
It has been a great relief to return to my bike. Yes, I often feel that I'm going to be crushed under the weight of a giant unfeeling steel and plexiglass box on wheels, but at least I'm going to go out with a sense of freedom and control.
Part II
Although Clare has reclaimed her car, this experience has made me realize that in the world of car-less, I no longer fully count. I'm not pure. I do have more access than before. I live in a household with a car. At some point in my life, I think this blurring of the line would have bothered me greatly. Now, I acknowledge it, but I'm going to go about my business. Also, I think I'll go for a bike ride.
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
A tale of a mattress written in exactly five minutes
At first there was nothing, but a sleeping bag. Then came a mattress out of a garage. I look back on that time and I wonder, "how was that ok?" It was.
Next came a mattress, just the mattress, flopped on the floor. I was happy there. The mattress was firm. I was low to the ground. The danger of falling was minimized. Time passed and my need to stay low was overtaken by a need to grow up. Pressure mounted. I caved. My mattress was joined by box springs.
My firm Serta Ferndale Supreme mattress and a fine box spring made their way together through the years. Until, one day, my mattress and my box spring no longer fit my life. I needed a new mattress. I found one. It was firm. It would fit.
It arrived damp. Phone calls were made. Angry action threatened. Curses sent under my breath. Nothing took effect. Finally, a call to my credit card company stopped payment on the damp mattress. Still it sat in my room, propped up on the window, unmoving. For months. I had to get another mattress. I chose quickly. I felt pressured to right my wrongs, pressured to find a satisfying sleep.
A mattress trade later and I had just enough comfort to survive. This is not an easy tale to tell. I tried to call Serta to see if they had a replacement for the Ferndale Supreme, but they needed more information. My frustration continued.
Finally, they came and took my damp mattress away. It's only been 5 months.
That story took an extra 22 seconds. The end.
At first there was nothing, but a sleeping bag. Then came a mattress out of a garage. I look back on that time and I wonder, "how was that ok?" It was.
Next came a mattress, just the mattress, flopped on the floor. I was happy there. The mattress was firm. I was low to the ground. The danger of falling was minimized. Time passed and my need to stay low was overtaken by a need to grow up. Pressure mounted. I caved. My mattress was joined by box springs.
My firm Serta Ferndale Supreme mattress and a fine box spring made their way together through the years. Until, one day, my mattress and my box spring no longer fit my life. I needed a new mattress. I found one. It was firm. It would fit.
It arrived damp. Phone calls were made. Angry action threatened. Curses sent under my breath. Nothing took effect. Finally, a call to my credit card company stopped payment on the damp mattress. Still it sat in my room, propped up on the window, unmoving. For months. I had to get another mattress. I chose quickly. I felt pressured to right my wrongs, pressured to find a satisfying sleep.
A mattress trade later and I had just enough comfort to survive. This is not an easy tale to tell. I tried to call Serta to see if they had a replacement for the Ferndale Supreme, but they needed more information. My frustration continued.
Finally, they came and took my damp mattress away. It's only been 5 months.
That story took an extra 22 seconds. The end.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Live Blogging the Oscars (until I get bored)
Oops. I'm late. Good thing I don't actually have live readers. (Not that you're not alive, just, well you know...) I caught the introduction, got excited about Back to the Future and then thought that it was poorly used. I liked the younger dynamic joke, but am unsure about these hosts Anne Hathaway and James Franco. Hey, Morgan Freeman! Why isn't he hosting?
Gone with the Wind references and all this mom talk have me missing mine.
8:45 Let the awkward speeches begin.
8:49 First commercial break- affordable fashion with JCPenney, inspiring children with McDonald's, the family angle with Hyundai. Finally, iPad (oops I mean Samsung Tab) is the first one to not hit the "women's Super Bowl" demographic hard.
8:52 Kirk Douglas pulls off that compliment to Anne Hathaway with class.
8:54 Helena Bonham Carter looks great and King's Speech is the only one I saw, but I bet True Grit gets best supporting actress.
8:56Good thing I don't bet. Melissa Leo from The Fighter seems completely shocked, genuine, and just got censored. Yes!
9:01 The hosts seem to be relaxing. Maybe that's not good.
9:02 An app joke? Unimpressed. And are those breast tattoos Mila? I know they aren't and I might still be impressed.
I'm not sure I'm young and hip enough for this Oscars, though.
The problem I'm having here is providing context and a response. I'm starting to doubt my talent as a LiveBlogger. Perhaps, I'd be better off watching with someone else rather than reaching out to the Internet.
9:09 Commercial break: We're going less overtly female this round. Hyundai is back again. So's Samsung Tab; no wait, that's Kindle. I kind of liked the quiet pitch they made. Then came the quiet pitch for Fancy Feast. How in the world does a cat food manage to tie itself into the wedding industrial complex? And does that make sense?
9:15 Aaron Sorkin can write. He just picked up the Screenwriter's Oscar. Seems like an interesting fellow. I'd listen to more but the musical hook is coming to take him away. Still he manages to ask for respect from a guinea pig. Not bad.
Ok. Thanks for reading. I'm through. This isn't doing it for me. I'm not sure how much Oscar I have left in me anyway. Good night and good luck.
Oops. I'm late. Good thing I don't actually have live readers. (Not that you're not alive, just, well you know...) I caught the introduction, got excited about Back to the Future and then thought that it was poorly used. I liked the younger dynamic joke, but am unsure about these hosts Anne Hathaway and James Franco. Hey, Morgan Freeman! Why isn't he hosting?
Gone with the Wind references and all this mom talk have me missing mine.
8:45 Let the awkward speeches begin.
8:49 First commercial break- affordable fashion with JCPenney, inspiring children with McDonald's, the family angle with Hyundai. Finally, iPad (oops I mean Samsung Tab) is the first one to not hit the "women's Super Bowl" demographic hard.
8:52 Kirk Douglas pulls off that compliment to Anne Hathaway with class.
8:54 Helena Bonham Carter looks great and King's Speech is the only one I saw, but I bet True Grit gets best supporting actress.
8:56Good thing I don't bet. Melissa Leo from The Fighter seems completely shocked, genuine, and just got censored. Yes!
9:01 The hosts seem to be relaxing. Maybe that's not good.
9:02 An app joke? Unimpressed. And are those breast tattoos Mila? I know they aren't and I might still be impressed.
I'm not sure I'm young and hip enough for this Oscars, though.
The problem I'm having here is providing context and a response. I'm starting to doubt my talent as a LiveBlogger. Perhaps, I'd be better off watching with someone else rather than reaching out to the Internet.
9:09 Commercial break: We're going less overtly female this round. Hyundai is back again. So's Samsung Tab; no wait, that's Kindle. I kind of liked the quiet pitch they made. Then came the quiet pitch for Fancy Feast. How in the world does a cat food manage to tie itself into the wedding industrial complex? And does that make sense?
9:15 Aaron Sorkin can write. He just picked up the Screenwriter's Oscar. Seems like an interesting fellow. I'd listen to more but the musical hook is coming to take him away. Still he manages to ask for respect from a guinea pig. Not bad.
Ok. Thanks for reading. I'm through. This isn't doing it for me. I'm not sure how much Oscar I have left in me anyway. Good night and good luck.
My fountain of youth makes it hard to walk
Decked out in neon green shorts and matching neon emblems on our chest, the Catholic team split in two for the first tournament of the semester. It was mixed, the only one on the schedule this year. We pulled in some alumni help and I strapped on my ankle brace and laced up my cleats. I'd been bothered by a shin splint all week, but at game time the pain was gone. That was a relief.
Dubbed team pretty, we had most of the handlers while the other team was team gawgeous and had most of the cutters. Gawgeous looked fast and explosive, but they were mostly without our star Paul as he's battling an injury. In this one day tourney, Gawgeous would be 2-2 in pool play and end up tied for 3rd overall with a nice performance from a couple rookies and strong leadership from Lemon and John. They had lots of hustle, including the exciting return of Senor Banjo in short spurts.
Team pretty got off to an ugly start. Our throws were off and our cuts just weren't coming. We were quickly and easily dispatched by one of the teams that would reach the championship. Our second game was better, but we still struggled in spurts with throwaways and the little big things like setting up cuts and using good fakes on throws. Pretty was joined by Jim and Kyle and both were big contributors to our success. Jim's forehand huck was our weapon of choice, but he also found some success with his backhand. I had a personal highlight in the second game as universe point rolled around. The other team had the disc on the goal line and was looking to score. I was on the mark and as the thrower released I yelled up just as the disc smacked into my hand. We went on to win the game. It was probably Ben who caught the score, though I don't remember for sure. Ben emerged as our favorite target coming down with lots of scores during the day.
It was fun to see Kyle and his amazing little-guy ups. I'd love to see him with bigger throws. For me as I was cutting deep for him, but also for him because I know he sees the field and reigns it in. Frodo continued to play well. The best part for me is to see him shake off mistakes. He had a couple rough ones: a dropped pull and a dump for a callahan, but he shook them off immediately and got right back to business. We were fighting some injuries on team pretty, but as our numbers dwindled a bit, we seemed to be clicking better.
The women played well. Jess is dominant and fun to watch. She skyed a guy and scored a number of times on up the line cuts with sweet little grabs. She forced a few hucks that worked in our favor too. The crowd loves her and she works hard. My only criticism is that when she meets her equal in speed, she ends up chasing on D. This is my recurring complaint about most of the team this year, so I shouldn't be too hard on her. This was Marian's first tournament and I was excited to see her get a score and a couple catches as a cutter. She's feisty and I get the sense that once she figures the game out she's really going to like it and contribute. I hope that can happen within this semester.
Back to me, it's my blog. The fields were short and the competition sometimes shoddy, but I had a good time. I got frustrated and tired at times, but Ultimate is good. I loved pulling down deep puts from Jim and I felt like my deep puts were having more success than usual. I had one or two bad drops and five or six bad throwaways, but I also had a couple grabs that I'm really proud of. They felt well timed. Overall it was a good day. That's what it's all about. I think because I knew alumni were around and playing, I never let that feeling of not belonging creep in. It's pretty awesome to still be a part of Catholic Ultimate. The drama has been high at times this year, but days like yesterday make that easy to forget. We ended up fifth, dominating a game to 5 as the sun was setting. Thanks, Catholic.
Decked out in neon green shorts and matching neon emblems on our chest, the Catholic team split in two for the first tournament of the semester. It was mixed, the only one on the schedule this year. We pulled in some alumni help and I strapped on my ankle brace and laced up my cleats. I'd been bothered by a shin splint all week, but at game time the pain was gone. That was a relief.
Dubbed team pretty, we had most of the handlers while the other team was team gawgeous and had most of the cutters. Gawgeous looked fast and explosive, but they were mostly without our star Paul as he's battling an injury. In this one day tourney, Gawgeous would be 2-2 in pool play and end up tied for 3rd overall with a nice performance from a couple rookies and strong leadership from Lemon and John. They had lots of hustle, including the exciting return of Senor Banjo in short spurts.
Team pretty got off to an ugly start. Our throws were off and our cuts just weren't coming. We were quickly and easily dispatched by one of the teams that would reach the championship. Our second game was better, but we still struggled in spurts with throwaways and the little big things like setting up cuts and using good fakes on throws. Pretty was joined by Jim and Kyle and both were big contributors to our success. Jim's forehand huck was our weapon of choice, but he also found some success with his backhand. I had a personal highlight in the second game as universe point rolled around. The other team had the disc on the goal line and was looking to score. I was on the mark and as the thrower released I yelled up just as the disc smacked into my hand. We went on to win the game. It was probably Ben who caught the score, though I don't remember for sure. Ben emerged as our favorite target coming down with lots of scores during the day.
It was fun to see Kyle and his amazing little-guy ups. I'd love to see him with bigger throws. For me as I was cutting deep for him, but also for him because I know he sees the field and reigns it in. Frodo continued to play well. The best part for me is to see him shake off mistakes. He had a couple rough ones: a dropped pull and a dump for a callahan, but he shook them off immediately and got right back to business. We were fighting some injuries on team pretty, but as our numbers dwindled a bit, we seemed to be clicking better.
The women played well. Jess is dominant and fun to watch. She skyed a guy and scored a number of times on up the line cuts with sweet little grabs. She forced a few hucks that worked in our favor too. The crowd loves her and she works hard. My only criticism is that when she meets her equal in speed, she ends up chasing on D. This is my recurring complaint about most of the team this year, so I shouldn't be too hard on her. This was Marian's first tournament and I was excited to see her get a score and a couple catches as a cutter. She's feisty and I get the sense that once she figures the game out she's really going to like it and contribute. I hope that can happen within this semester.
Back to me, it's my blog. The fields were short and the competition sometimes shoddy, but I had a good time. I got frustrated and tired at times, but Ultimate is good. I loved pulling down deep puts from Jim and I felt like my deep puts were having more success than usual. I had one or two bad drops and five or six bad throwaways, but I also had a couple grabs that I'm really proud of. They felt well timed. Overall it was a good day. That's what it's all about. I think because I knew alumni were around and playing, I never let that feeling of not belonging creep in. It's pretty awesome to still be a part of Catholic Ultimate. The drama has been high at times this year, but days like yesterday make that easy to forget. We ended up fifth, dominating a game to 5 as the sun was setting. Thanks, Catholic.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
There's music in my pants
Drums are awesome. When I was a kid, I wanted to be in a drum line. The thrill of the bang, a parade, that rhythmic sound like a giant heart beating. BAM, BAM, BAM of the bass, the rat-tat-tat of the snare made me wave my arms and play in my imaginary band. It brought the streets to life. It gave the lines of clowns and shriners a pulsing hop in their step. I wanted to be a drummer.
I don't really remember when that dream went quiet. I think it just slowly leaked away from me. It might have been the inferior quality of my Fisher Price drums or it might have been the value of peace and quiet that my parents subtly instilled. The high cost of a drum set surely played a part, but I was too young to understand that. It could have been that I just went to fewer parades. Do parades in another countries have drum lines? The marching band seems like it could be more American with its size and volume. Maybe I missed some that way.
My memory is fuzzy, but the drums got replaced by another instrument. What it lacked in verve it more than made up in portability. Particularly, my first harmonica, which fit easily in the pocket of a first grader. My first harmonica was a miniature. I could blow through it and then hide it under my tongue. It was a great recess trick. I did worry about choking on it in the event that I was hit by a four-square ball (or more likely in a game of sap), so I was careful to use my trick away from the ball games. It was fine for when I was climbing on the lincoln-log-esque tee-pees or for trying to get the attention of the girls like Candice and Autumn.
I suppose I lost that miniature harmonica. I had a tendency to lose things at that age, especially hats, so to lose an instrument smaller than my finger seems quite likely. I soon replaced the miniature with a beautiful full-sized Hohner Echo in a yellow carrying case. It fit in my pocket, but not under my tongue. The Echo was made in Germany and probably purchased there too. I can't remember picking it out specifically, but I do remember looking through many glass counters at the rows of harmonicas. The rows were full of musical possibility. Possibility that has mostly gone unrealized for me. These days the twenty-something Echo has lost a bit of its shine. The red edges still contrast with the silvery metal, but a bit of rust and twenty some-odd years of boy mouth dust have collected on the front side.
Somewhere along the line, I picked up another harmonica. I think it was a Hohner too. Single hole, in a blue carrying case, possibly a G rather than a C. It shows a little less wear. Sometimes I play these harmonicas, picturing myself in Folsom prison, out on the prairie, or riding the rails. I don't play them well and I don't usually play tunes that are recognizable, but there's something about that metallic sound and its portability that makes me keep them around.
Drums are awesome. When I was a kid, I wanted to be in a drum line. The thrill of the bang, a parade, that rhythmic sound like a giant heart beating. BAM, BAM, BAM of the bass, the rat-tat-tat of the snare made me wave my arms and play in my imaginary band. It brought the streets to life. It gave the lines of clowns and shriners a pulsing hop in their step. I wanted to be a drummer.
I don't really remember when that dream went quiet. I think it just slowly leaked away from me. It might have been the inferior quality of my Fisher Price drums or it might have been the value of peace and quiet that my parents subtly instilled. The high cost of a drum set surely played a part, but I was too young to understand that. It could have been that I just went to fewer parades. Do parades in another countries have drum lines? The marching band seems like it could be more American with its size and volume. Maybe I missed some that way.
My memory is fuzzy, but the drums got replaced by another instrument. What it lacked in verve it more than made up in portability. Particularly, my first harmonica, which fit easily in the pocket of a first grader. My first harmonica was a miniature. I could blow through it and then hide it under my tongue. It was a great recess trick. I did worry about choking on it in the event that I was hit by a four-square ball (or more likely in a game of sap), so I was careful to use my trick away from the ball games. It was fine for when I was climbing on the lincoln-log-esque tee-pees or for trying to get the attention of the girls like Candice and Autumn.
I suppose I lost that miniature harmonica. I had a tendency to lose things at that age, especially hats, so to lose an instrument smaller than my finger seems quite likely. I soon replaced the miniature with a beautiful full-sized Hohner Echo in a yellow carrying case. It fit in my pocket, but not under my tongue. The Echo was made in Germany and probably purchased there too. I can't remember picking it out specifically, but I do remember looking through many glass counters at the rows of harmonicas. The rows were full of musical possibility. Possibility that has mostly gone unrealized for me. These days the twenty-something Echo has lost a bit of its shine. The red edges still contrast with the silvery metal, but a bit of rust and twenty some-odd years of boy mouth dust have collected on the front side.
Somewhere along the line, I picked up another harmonica. I think it was a Hohner too. Single hole, in a blue carrying case, possibly a G rather than a C. It shows a little less wear. Sometimes I play these harmonicas, picturing myself in Folsom prison, out on the prairie, or riding the rails. I don't play them well and I don't usually play tunes that are recognizable, but there's something about that metallic sound and its portability that makes me keep them around.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Creative block
I've run out of pithy observations. I've adopted my own metro stare and I'm avoiding elevators with a high rate of success.
My cleverness no longer impresses me. Fake mustaches stuck to my forehead and the line, "they'll grow on you," notwithstanding.
Generally, I feel heard. I don't need an outlet to share my thoughts, because I have people who are willing to listen to me, or at least "like" my Facebook status updates.
I stumble over words when I'm trying to write. This may be self-perpetuating. I don't write as much, so I don't practice and then I haven't practiced, so I don't feel like writing.
So much is being said. There are so many blogs, that have started and stopped, and started again. Sometimes I feel like every idea I have has already been spewed onto the Internet before. Probably in song and with better visual effects.
I want to write. At least I think I do. Yet, I'm impatient. I don't like to revise. I like to get it out and be done with it. I like to write something and smile a self-satisfied smile while I wipe my hands of it. Maybe I've become more critical. My internal editor has seen it before and he wants it to be better. The writer in me needs to step up and answer the challenge.
For now, he's going running.
I've run out of pithy observations. I've adopted my own metro stare and I'm avoiding elevators with a high rate of success.
My cleverness no longer impresses me. Fake mustaches stuck to my forehead and the line, "they'll grow on you," notwithstanding.
Generally, I feel heard. I don't need an outlet to share my thoughts, because I have people who are willing to listen to me, or at least "like" my Facebook status updates.
I stumble over words when I'm trying to write. This may be self-perpetuating. I don't write as much, so I don't practice and then I haven't practiced, so I don't feel like writing.
So much is being said. There are so many blogs, that have started and stopped, and started again. Sometimes I feel like every idea I have has already been spewed onto the Internet before. Probably in song and with better visual effects.
I want to write. At least I think I do. Yet, I'm impatient. I don't like to revise. I like to get it out and be done with it. I like to write something and smile a self-satisfied smile while I wipe my hands of it. Maybe I've become more critical. My internal editor has seen it before and he wants it to be better. The writer in me needs to step up and answer the challenge.
For now, he's going running.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Hey KIDS!
I thought I'd try to live blog the State of the Union address. I'll give my reactions as we go. A few disclaimers before we start:
1. I really just need a new blog post, I don't expect to pull out much insight.
2. I usually don't last the whole state of the union.
3. It somehow seems important to watch since I'm down the street.
9:13 It's nice to see the ceremony of politics sometimes. It gets so much more polite than the rest of the TV shows that I watch about politics. Let's go. (edited that comment a bit).
9:15 Is Joe Biden updating his Facebook page?
9:18 Xerox corporation CEO? It's been a busy day for Xerox in my life.
9:19 Nice. I like the spin on what the election meant. Figure it out together.
9:21 Oh. I just realized why there were so many police officers around the capitol tonight. (forehead slap).
9:23 "The future is ours to win." I missed the how.
9:24 Oh. That's the rest of the speech. Thanks, Obama.
9:27 Can't help but hope that the budget isn't out of this world, with all that space talk.
9:31 I won a science fair once. It was a tea-related experiment.
9:32 I like all these sports comparisons- race to the top, ours to win, etc.
9:34 Teachers as "nationbuilders". Wow. Makes me want to be a teacher and build a nation. Too bad I'm most interested in English.
9:39 Taking on the issue of immigrants seems like a massive undertaking.
9:40 Highspeed rail and highspeed Internet? Awesome.
9:44 Snack time.
9:46 Is our food safe to eat? Maybe our foodstuff is. I realize how lucky I am when I can make that snarky comment and also how much I've been reading about nutrition and/or watching The Biggest Loser
9:53 He's really pushing the bipartisan approach. He does it well.
9:55 YES! Simplify the tax code. Please.
9:56 Reorganization? I wondered if that was coming earlier when President Obama was talking about cutting the budget. I've been hanging around big companies too much lately. Sheesh.
10:00 C's home. I'm feeling a little sheepish about this project now.
10:03 "Begin" to bring our troops home. This seems like what's been said before...
10:05 I'm losing steam, but it seems rude to abandon the President. My landlord just started rocking out on his electronic keyboard. John Kerry would smile if he could hear it.
10:08 "One voice." The push for unity is everywhere around me too.
10:10 Selling messy democracy. He's at it again. Man, he's good. Somebody should elect that guy.
10:15 BAM. Let's do big things.
Well, looks like the VCR clock is running a couple of minutes ahead. That's the clock I was using. How embarrassing (right). That was an interesting way to view the address. I missed a few things, but it was also a bit like taking notes. I wasn't very clever, but I think this might be interesting to look back and read. In some ways, it made me feel shallow, but in other ways I felt good because I was really paying attention and being thoughtful. Several themes have emerged from my life of late. A number of speeches and books are on the motivational, even inspirational side. The reorganization, the budget cuts, the push for unity all keep cropping up.
I have high hopes for highspeed Internet and rail, as well as electric cars, alternative energy, simplified tax codes, and more. I'm ready for big things.
I thought I'd try to live blog the State of the Union address. I'll give my reactions as we go. A few disclaimers before we start:
1. I really just need a new blog post, I don't expect to pull out much insight.
2. I usually don't last the whole state of the union.
3. It somehow seems important to watch since I'm down the street.
9:13 It's nice to see the ceremony of politics sometimes. It gets so much more polite than the rest of the TV shows that I watch about politics. Let's go. (edited that comment a bit).
9:15 Is Joe Biden updating his Facebook page?
9:18 Xerox corporation CEO? It's been a busy day for Xerox in my life.
9:19 Nice. I like the spin on what the election meant. Figure it out together.
9:21 Oh. I just realized why there were so many police officers around the capitol tonight. (forehead slap).
9:23 "The future is ours to win." I missed the how.
9:24 Oh. That's the rest of the speech. Thanks, Obama.
9:27 Can't help but hope that the budget isn't out of this world, with all that space talk.
9:31 I won a science fair once. It was a tea-related experiment.
9:32 I like all these sports comparisons- race to the top, ours to win, etc.
9:34 Teachers as "nationbuilders". Wow. Makes me want to be a teacher and build a nation. Too bad I'm most interested in English.
9:39 Taking on the issue of immigrants seems like a massive undertaking.
9:40 Highspeed rail and highspeed Internet? Awesome.
9:44 Snack time.
9:46 Is our food safe to eat? Maybe our foodstuff is. I realize how lucky I am when I can make that snarky comment and also how much I've been reading about nutrition and/or watching The Biggest Loser
9:53 He's really pushing the bipartisan approach. He does it well.
9:55 YES! Simplify the tax code. Please.
9:56 Reorganization? I wondered if that was coming earlier when President Obama was talking about cutting the budget. I've been hanging around big companies too much lately. Sheesh.
10:00 C's home. I'm feeling a little sheepish about this project now.
10:03 "Begin" to bring our troops home. This seems like what's been said before...
10:05 I'm losing steam, but it seems rude to abandon the President. My landlord just started rocking out on his electronic keyboard. John Kerry would smile if he could hear it.
10:08 "One voice." The push for unity is everywhere around me too.
10:10 Selling messy democracy. He's at it again. Man, he's good. Somebody should elect that guy.
10:15 BAM. Let's do big things.
Well, looks like the VCR clock is running a couple of minutes ahead. That's the clock I was using. How embarrassing (right). That was an interesting way to view the address. I missed a few things, but it was also a bit like taking notes. I wasn't very clever, but I think this might be interesting to look back and read. In some ways, it made me feel shallow, but in other ways I felt good because I was really paying attention and being thoughtful. Several themes have emerged from my life of late. A number of speeches and books are on the motivational, even inspirational side. The reorganization, the budget cuts, the push for unity all keep cropping up.
I have high hopes for highspeed Internet and rail, as well as electric cars, alternative energy, simplified tax codes, and more. I'm ready for big things.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Don't be cruel
The following scene remixes my Saturday from a week ago. I couldn't find a way to include a memorial for my neighbor Yelba, but somehow I think that's probably for the best.
I glanced outside to find six snowflakes on a windshield. The track workout is on, I thought to myself. After breakfast, a toothbrushing, and some unrelated thoughts playing pong in my mind, I looked again to find the white coming down hard. I checked my phone. I checked email. No one was going to give up. With nothing left to check, I headed out the door. Purposefully overdressed, running ahead of schedule, I tromped down 14th on my way to the track.
With a Lincoln look-a-like in one cage and a cardboard Washington Monument dipping down to enter the other, round one of the Elvis Birthday Fight Club was all but underway. Lincoln would land the early punches and take control of the phallus. What looked like certain victory was snatched away when a trap door opened in the cardboard masonry and out popped a six shooter.
The track was white with snow. The quiet seemed more morning related than snow-related, but once my partners arrived it was obvious we'd have the track to ourselves. We warmed up slowly, our footfalls tracing the oval in shoe sizes.
Lil' Dutch and more than her fair share of make-up were disrobing. The poor seating arrangement blocked anything below waist level and for the most part this seemed ok. Out came the tassles, on went the twirling. What a curious talent. With a mixture of awe, horror, amusement and something not entirely unrelated to arousal, I watched spinning tassles with my head bobbing in time.
Paul went out too fast in the first half mile. I couldn't keep pace knowing that I was under-trained and we still had seven halves to run. I wanted to slow Paul down, but wasn't sure that my pace was the right pace, so I let him go and sought a realist's pace while trying not to slip on snow. The rest lap came quickly and soon we launched into another half and another round.
Colonel Sanders seemed to handle the chicken easily, he may have even choked it, but then just as the match seemed to be in hand, he took to making a racist rant. It wasn't long before the crowd turned on him and his goose was cooked. The chicken would live to fight another day.
By the third half, Paul had come back down to earth and I had sped up slightly. I felt ok at our 5:30ish mile pace, but was unsure how long I'd last. I lasted longer than the giant cross-dressing man. He won his early round, but then fell to a better-dressed opponent.
I made it through four and five before the personal bargaining began. I'd do one and sit one I thought. Or, I'd sit now, so I could finish the last one ok. Yet somehow, like the burlesque dancer on burlesque dancer fight that broke out in the middle rounds, it seemed like I just didn't know when to quit. As shirts and boots were tossed aside and as I seemed to recover just enough each time, I survived five and six, then happened upon half number seven.
A robot was fighting a chicken and technical difficulties ensued. I stayed close through seven convincing myself that I'd be done after it was over. Then I couldn't quite quit. I started eight. I tucked in behind Paul and ran strong for 400 meters. Chicken wings were flying. Robots were dancing the chicken. Chickens were dancing the robot. It was a back and forth battle and my mind lost. I slowed considerably, and fell off the pace. Way off. It's not how I like to finish a workout, not how I want to finish races.
I think the chicken emerged victorious. I don't think that was a metaphor. Thanks Elvis. Thanks Paul and Bill.
The following scene remixes my Saturday from a week ago. I couldn't find a way to include a memorial for my neighbor Yelba, but somehow I think that's probably for the best.
I glanced outside to find six snowflakes on a windshield. The track workout is on, I thought to myself. After breakfast, a toothbrushing, and some unrelated thoughts playing pong in my mind, I looked again to find the white coming down hard. I checked my phone. I checked email. No one was going to give up. With nothing left to check, I headed out the door. Purposefully overdressed, running ahead of schedule, I tromped down 14th on my way to the track.
With a Lincoln look-a-like in one cage and a cardboard Washington Monument dipping down to enter the other, round one of the Elvis Birthday Fight Club was all but underway. Lincoln would land the early punches and take control of the phallus. What looked like certain victory was snatched away when a trap door opened in the cardboard masonry and out popped a six shooter.
The track was white with snow. The quiet seemed more morning related than snow-related, but once my partners arrived it was obvious we'd have the track to ourselves. We warmed up slowly, our footfalls tracing the oval in shoe sizes.
Lil' Dutch and more than her fair share of make-up were disrobing. The poor seating arrangement blocked anything below waist level and for the most part this seemed ok. Out came the tassles, on went the twirling. What a curious talent. With a mixture of awe, horror, amusement and something not entirely unrelated to arousal, I watched spinning tassles with my head bobbing in time.
Paul went out too fast in the first half mile. I couldn't keep pace knowing that I was under-trained and we still had seven halves to run. I wanted to slow Paul down, but wasn't sure that my pace was the right pace, so I let him go and sought a realist's pace while trying not to slip on snow. The rest lap came quickly and soon we launched into another half and another round.
Colonel Sanders seemed to handle the chicken easily, he may have even choked it, but then just as the match seemed to be in hand, he took to making a racist rant. It wasn't long before the crowd turned on him and his goose was cooked. The chicken would live to fight another day.
By the third half, Paul had come back down to earth and I had sped up slightly. I felt ok at our 5:30ish mile pace, but was unsure how long I'd last. I lasted longer than the giant cross-dressing man. He won his early round, but then fell to a better-dressed opponent.
I made it through four and five before the personal bargaining began. I'd do one and sit one I thought. Or, I'd sit now, so I could finish the last one ok. Yet somehow, like the burlesque dancer on burlesque dancer fight that broke out in the middle rounds, it seemed like I just didn't know when to quit. As shirts and boots were tossed aside and as I seemed to recover just enough each time, I survived five and six, then happened upon half number seven.
A robot was fighting a chicken and technical difficulties ensued. I stayed close through seven convincing myself that I'd be done after it was over. Then I couldn't quite quit. I started eight. I tucked in behind Paul and ran strong for 400 meters. Chicken wings were flying. Robots were dancing the chicken. Chickens were dancing the robot. It was a back and forth battle and my mind lost. I slowed considerably, and fell off the pace. Way off. It's not how I like to finish a workout, not how I want to finish races.
I think the chicken emerged victorious. I don't think that was a metaphor. Thanks Elvis. Thanks Paul and Bill.
Monday, January 03, 2011
I'm one of 'em
I'm inspired by the new year, inspired by sitting around and doing little to nothing in the last week as I let a cough peter mostly out and let my social life do the same. Once 2011 hit and I finished my stockpile of Gilmore Girls episodes, I morphed into a man ready to take flight in all areas of life.
I'm ready to exercise, eat right, spend my time wisely, and on and on. Oprah magazine has the answers. Or the books I'm reading. Or the newspaper. I've got vague ideas and half-formed plans. I'm off to a good start and recognize that I cannot sustain this momentum completely, but I'm hoping that I can hold up enough to make a difference. When's the last time I was able to get a workout in, make dinners ahead of schedule, clean up, post to the blog(s), and still find time to bathe and read? Unheard of? Nay, it's 2011 and the new year shines with possibility.
I'm off to floss!
I'm inspired by the new year, inspired by sitting around and doing little to nothing in the last week as I let a cough peter mostly out and let my social life do the same. Once 2011 hit and I finished my stockpile of Gilmore Girls episodes, I morphed into a man ready to take flight in all areas of life.
I'm ready to exercise, eat right, spend my time wisely, and on and on. Oprah magazine has the answers. Or the books I'm reading. Or the newspaper. I've got vague ideas and half-formed plans. I'm off to a good start and recognize that I cannot sustain this momentum completely, but I'm hoping that I can hold up enough to make a difference. When's the last time I was able to get a workout in, make dinners ahead of schedule, clean up, post to the blog(s), and still find time to bathe and read? Unheard of? Nay, it's 2011 and the new year shines with possibility.
I'm off to floss!
Saturday, January 01, 2011
Happy New Year
1...2...3... Go. I woke up today, drove to Gaithersburg, got lost, managed a long line and an abbreviated warm-up and then found myself at the front of the starting group at a 5k. This is the third year of the last four that I've kicked off with this race, so the comparisons are getting a little too telling.
I didn't mean to start from the front. At some point, I had a conservative plan of running 5:50 per mile. In the front, that plan seemed foolish. Instead, I decided I should run with the gentlemen surrounding me. After all, I could keep pace, even if it was a faster pace than I wanted. I did keep pace, through most of a mile, which clicked off at about 5:27. Then my weak last few months of training and my ongoing battles with cold and flu-like symptoms kicked in and 10th place became 11th, became 13th, became clinging to 13th. The two mile came at 11:20 and the pain kept coming. I kept clinging to 13th place and finally sauntered home in 18:21. It was a battle and I probably cost myself 10 to 15 seconds with that start. The ego won out and I paid for it.
Now, I have all of 2011 to think about it. I didn't break the 5 minute mile in 2010. I've started off 2011 with the stuff of a freshman. It's time to get going again. Hello '11, here I come.
1...2...3... Go. I woke up today, drove to Gaithersburg, got lost, managed a long line and an abbreviated warm-up and then found myself at the front of the starting group at a 5k. This is the third year of the last four that I've kicked off with this race, so the comparisons are getting a little too telling.
I didn't mean to start from the front. At some point, I had a conservative plan of running 5:50 per mile. In the front, that plan seemed foolish. Instead, I decided I should run with the gentlemen surrounding me. After all, I could keep pace, even if it was a faster pace than I wanted. I did keep pace, through most of a mile, which clicked off at about 5:27. Then my weak last few months of training and my ongoing battles with cold and flu-like symptoms kicked in and 10th place became 11th, became 13th, became clinging to 13th. The two mile came at 11:20 and the pain kept coming. I kept clinging to 13th place and finally sauntered home in 18:21. It was a battle and I probably cost myself 10 to 15 seconds with that start. The ego won out and I paid for it.
Now, I have all of 2011 to think about it. I didn't break the 5 minute mile in 2010. I've started off 2011 with the stuff of a freshman. It's time to get going again. Hello '11, here I come.
Friday, December 31, 2010
2010 movies
I've really been clinging to the past recently. I re-watched Finding Forrester, Star Trek, and have the Back to the Future trilogy all lined up as a possibility for tonight. The new ones in 2010 went like this-
1. All About Steve
2. Fired Up
3. Legion
4. Good Dick
5. Avatar
6. Hollywoodland
7. Confederate States of America
8. Singles
9. Blindside
10. The Fantastic Mr. Fox
11. It's Complicated
12. Hot Tub Time Machine
13. The Invention of Lying
14. Kick Ass
15. Bottleshock
16. King of California
17. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
18. District 9
19. Funny People
20. The Chateau
21. Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs
22. $9.99
23. Appaloosa
24. Paul Blart Mall Cop
25. Inception
26. Zac and Miri make a Porno
27. Bicker Schlecker's Cool Idea
28. Moon
29. Jackson Pollack
30. The Girl who Played with Fire
31. Mongol
32. Men who stare at goats
33. Malice in Wonderland
34. Visioneers
35. ???? Something with Time Travel in Vermont?
36. The Kids Are All Right
37. Piranha 3D
38. Invictus
39. The Town
40. Inglorious Basterds
41. Leap Year
42. State of Play
43. Gran Torino
44. Public Enemies
45. Iron Man 2
46. Valentine's Day
47. The Express
48. Paris je t'aime
49. I Love You Beth Cooper
50. Clash of the Titans
51. Monsoon Wedding
52. In July
53. Please Give
54.
Inception was good. Piranha 3D was everything it promised to be and gets credit for that and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo was a pretty solid movie version of a good book. Good Dick was odd and uncomfortable. Public Enemies was pretty disappointing.
I miss Netflix on demand.
I've really been clinging to the past recently. I re-watched Finding Forrester, Star Trek, and have the Back to the Future trilogy all lined up as a possibility for tonight. The new ones in 2010 went like this-
1. All About Steve
2. Fired Up
3. Legion
4. Good Dick
5. Avatar
6. Hollywoodland
7. Confederate States of America
8. Singles
9. Blindside
10. The Fantastic Mr. Fox
11. It's Complicated
12. Hot Tub Time Machine
13. The Invention of Lying
14. Kick Ass
15. Bottleshock
16. King of California
17. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
18. District 9
19. Funny People
20. The Chateau
21. Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs
22. $9.99
23. Appaloosa
24. Paul Blart Mall Cop
25. Inception
26. Zac and Miri make a Porno
27. Bicker Schlecker's Cool Idea
28. Moon
29. Jackson Pollack
30. The Girl who Played with Fire
31. Mongol
32. Men who stare at goats
33. Malice in Wonderland
34. Visioneers
35. ???? Something with Time Travel in Vermont?
36. The Kids Are All Right
37. Piranha 3D
38. Invictus
39. The Town
40. Inglorious Basterds
41. Leap Year
42. State of Play
43. Gran Torino
44. Public Enemies
45. Iron Man 2
46. Valentine's Day
47. The Express
48. Paris je t'aime
49. I Love You Beth Cooper
50. Clash of the Titans
51. Monsoon Wedding
52. In July
53. Please Give
54.
Inception was good. Piranha 3D was everything it promised to be and gets credit for that and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo was a pretty solid movie version of a good book. Good Dick was odd and uncomfortable. Public Enemies was pretty disappointing.
I miss Netflix on demand.
2010 books
For some reason I've started several books in the last week and not been able to finish them. I also launched in for a quick re-read of the last 200 pages of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. It's still a winner. Here's the ones that I got all the way through in 2010.
1. Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and sex
2. Bel Canto (re-read)
3. Up in the Air
4. Enter Jeeves: 15 Early Stories
5. Food Rules: An Eater's Manual
6. Olive Kitteridge
7. The Lost Symbol
8. The Yellow Jersey
9. My Life in France
10. The Girl Who Played with Fire
11. Never Let Go
12. Nudge
13. The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest
14. Ender's Game (re-read)
15. Traffic
16. An Abundance of Katherines
17. Seeing
18. Abide with Me
19. One Day
20. The Wind-up Girl
21. The Simple Truth
22. Drive
23. Getting to Yes
24. B is for Beer
25. Soon I will be invincible
26. Simple Genius
27. Click
28. The Bean Trees (re-read?)
29. Bounce
The tops: Olive Kitteridge was really well-written, but kind of depressing. My Life in France was entertaining and fun to read in France. The Girl books were suspenseful and fun. Bounce was really interesting, but odd at the beginning and the end.
The ones that disappointed: B is for Beer, Seeing, The Yellow Jersey.
For some reason I've started several books in the last week and not been able to finish them. I also launched in for a quick re-read of the last 200 pages of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. It's still a winner. Here's the ones that I got all the way through in 2010.
1. Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and sex
2. Bel Canto (re-read)
3. Up in the Air
4. Enter Jeeves: 15 Early Stories
5. Food Rules: An Eater's Manual
6. Olive Kitteridge
7. The Lost Symbol
8. The Yellow Jersey
9. My Life in France
10. The Girl Who Played with Fire
11. Never Let Go
12. Nudge
13. The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest
14. Ender's Game (re-read)
15. Traffic
16. An Abundance of Katherines
17. Seeing
18. Abide with Me
19. One Day
20. The Wind-up Girl
21. The Simple Truth
22. Drive
23. Getting to Yes
24. B is for Beer
25. Soon I will be invincible
26. Simple Genius
27. Click
28. The Bean Trees (re-read?)
29. Bounce
The tops: Olive Kitteridge was really well-written, but kind of depressing. My Life in France was entertaining and fun to read in France. The Girl books were suspenseful and fun. Bounce was really interesting, but odd at the beginning and the end.
The ones that disappointed: B is for Beer, Seeing, The Yellow Jersey.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
I walked intro the living room this morning and saw my mom reading the news on the iPad. The paper is gone and this tablet remains. In the same moment, I glanced at the fireplace and thought of the crumpled newspapers of another era and their use as fire starters. How would we start fires now? The electrical switch on the wall should suffice. The electric fire will sizzle to life. I bet even misbehaving children will receive batteries in their stockings here.
I am hunting and pecking to make this post a reality. Very quickly I am realizing that the iPad is not a tool for use with the old ways, blogging, email,etc., but for apps that I have not yet discovered.
The speed of change is reflected in the statement above as now a generation of change takes place in a
I am hunting and pecking to make this post a reality. Very quickly I am realizing that the iPad is not a tool for use with the old ways, blogging, email,etc., but for apps that I have not yet discovered.
The speed of change is reflected in the statement above as now a generation of change takes place in a
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
I promised an update
Bad news. It may have been the high road. It may have been differing tastes in humor. It may have been too much other stress, but I'm afraid that my follow-up to yesterday's prank is to report that there was little reaction to our hi-jinx. I heard mumbles that "maybe someone thought taping the fridge shut went too far" and my particular scrawl was recognized, but otherwise nada.
Sorry, kids. Hopefully, Santa's next prank will go over better.
Bad news. It may have been the high road. It may have been differing tastes in humor. It may have been too much other stress, but I'm afraid that my follow-up to yesterday's prank is to report that there was little reaction to our hi-jinx. I heard mumbles that "maybe someone thought taping the fridge shut went too far" and my particular scrawl was recognized, but otherwise nada.
Sorry, kids. Hopefully, Santa's next prank will go over better.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
I probably won't be featured on a tv show about an office any time soon
Tomorrow is the holiday party at my office. One of my coworkers is on the planning committee. Today, before he left work, he taped the refrigerator shut and posted signs that no one was to touch the food or open the fridge. This seemed a little excessive to a few of us. I mean, he taped the fridge shut.
We considered a few revenge scenarios, including emptying the fridge and leaving a ransom note or taking a bite out of each item, but ultimately decided that hysterics and/or a heart attack were not going to feel like victory in the morning.
Instead, we broke through the tape and placed post-its with comments from Santa and friends on all of the items. Comments like:
"Ginger ale gives the elves gas."
"Where's the beef?"
"I almost named a reindeer Tiramisu."
We were as clever as we could be and we tried not to leave any item out. We then taped up the fridge and covered his note with a letter from Santa. Reactions tomorrow...
Tomorrow is the holiday party at my office. One of my coworkers is on the planning committee. Today, before he left work, he taped the refrigerator shut and posted signs that no one was to touch the food or open the fridge. This seemed a little excessive to a few of us. I mean, he taped the fridge shut.
We considered a few revenge scenarios, including emptying the fridge and leaving a ransom note or taking a bite out of each item, but ultimately decided that hysterics and/or a heart attack were not going to feel like victory in the morning.
Instead, we broke through the tape and placed post-its with comments from Santa and friends on all of the items. Comments like:
"Ginger ale gives the elves gas."
"Where's the beef?"
"I almost named a reindeer Tiramisu."
We were as clever as we could be and we tried not to leave any item out. We then taped up the fridge and covered his note with a letter from Santa. Reactions tomorrow...
Monday, December 13, 2010
An observation or four
*I don't prepare my legs for winter like I prepare the rest of my body. When the cold comes and the wind whistles and my pants flap, my legs think, "Hmm. There should be a leg-shaped sweater."
*One of my favorite things about snow is the accompanying silence. I always thought that was somehow related to the acoustics of frozen water. Tonight as I walked to the store in biting cold it occurred to me that the silence might just come from folks staying bundled up indoors.
*I never understood how anybody could want to do things like manage or go in to business for themselves. Time passed. I can now see how either the frustration of being managed and/or the thrill and challenge of taking control could drive a person to such places.
*The Internet must be the most important place in the world; why else would I spend all of my time there?
*I don't prepare my legs for winter like I prepare the rest of my body. When the cold comes and the wind whistles and my pants flap, my legs think, "Hmm. There should be a leg-shaped sweater."
*One of my favorite things about snow is the accompanying silence. I always thought that was somehow related to the acoustics of frozen water. Tonight as I walked to the store in biting cold it occurred to me that the silence might just come from folks staying bundled up indoors.
*I never understood how anybody could want to do things like manage or go in to business for themselves. Time passed. I can now see how either the frustration of being managed and/or the thrill and challenge of taking control could drive a person to such places.
*The Internet must be the most important place in the world; why else would I spend all of my time there?
Sunday, December 12, 2010
I just felt like running
Here's the poetic version:
'Twas the night before jingling and all through the house,
my hacking cough was scaring the mouse.
Paul was recovering from an intestinal party
Amelia announced that she'd be quite tardy.
Michelle tracked down friends from her personal history
while Bill disappeared leaving only a mystery.
The maybe's had all turned to no
while the tiny drops of rain wished to be snow.
Darkness and fog were the monuments' blanket
and four of us wondered if we could tank it.
Surrounded by Santa's caps and elfish hoisery
jingle bells were scattered from shoelace to rosary.
Packed in like sardines enjoying a can,
we heard nothing but jingling and saw bouncing man.
On Katie, on Michelle, on Dave, and Paul
running a 10k for one and all.
Paul bolted early like a missile toe should,
and conquered Hain's point before the rest of us would.
Next came Dave alone, then Michelle and Katie as a duet,
all ran as quickly as their bodies would let.
The fog never lifted, but spirits were bright
those elfish legs were quite a sight.
All four finished wet and strong,
to the cheers of a jingle bell song.
And then before the risen sun,
we said "That was fun."
Oh and also,
"Merry Christmas to all and to all a good run."
Results here.
Bill did join us and so we managed to place 14th as a team!
The prose version follows:
The runny nose started on Wednesday. The hamstring strain on Thursday. The ankle has been acting up for a couple of weeks and the back jumped into the mix early last week. As the nose was joined by a sore throat and a cough, I stopped pressing and started trying to heal. Cough syrup and vitamin C were in heavy rotation with sleeping.
As I went to bed last night, nursing my NyQuil, I wondered if running in the Jingle Bell 10k was wise. I still wondered at quarter to five when I woke up. I didn't want to miss the race. There was a loose team counting on me and it also happens to be the social event of my weekend. Sniffling, I borrowed a car and headed to the polo fields for the second Sunday in a row.
I arrived by 6 since I still needed to pick up my race bib. I found there are parking spaces in the middle of the night and the early morning. Under the cover of darkness and fog, I picked up my packet and bided my time, inefficiently, I might add. I spent some of the wee hour forgiving myself for taking a car to the race. Not every test of my mettle needs to test every single mettle I've got. I wasn't worried about my race performance, I knew it was going to be a rough day. My main worry was ramifications later in the week and general discomfort from cold and rain. The rain was light. At around 7, I gathered with pieces of a team and we casually made our way to the starting line. We eschewed the warm-up in favor of polite conversation.
I remained well dressed and warm up until start time. Even then, I decided to keep all my clothes on and choose comfort bordering on overheating over a swifter outlook. We missed "go" but followed the hundreds in front of us. I trudged out of the gate and Paul took off. I sped up after him, but could tell that I couldn't keep pace today. I crossed the mile in a comfortable 6:12. I passed a few more people and then found my battleground. In another 6:35, I crossed the two mile mark. Just under a third of the way through and finishing seemed possible.
The jingle bells were louder this year. Perhaps they echoed off the fog on the Potomac. Or maybe my breathing wasn't quite as heavy. There were good moments where I felt strong and fast and bad moments where I felt sickly. For a while "here comes Santa Claus" played on repeat in my head. I crossed the 5k just a hair under 20 minutes, my optimism was intact but fading. I chased some nice looking elf legs and traded places with several challengers in a see-saw battle.
I tried to recall the quote I'd sent out to the team- "It's
very hard to understand in the beginning that the whole idea is not to
beat the other runners. Eventually you learn that the competition is
against the little voice inside you that wants to quit." ~Dr. George
Sheehan. I never came up with it directly, but I felt it most of the way as I battled myself above all others.
I passed mile 5 right at 33 minutes. A sub 40 minute 10k still seemed possible, but it wasn't. I struggled mightily during the last mile and then closed as hard as I could. I finished in 40:53 in 108th place. I was nearly 4 minutes slower than last year, but I was ahead of some of my challengers of this day and behind some others.
Knowing that I'd been sick and unsure of whether I'd even run, I remembered that running fast isn't the only reason I run. Having a sense of purpose, a reason to wake up before the sun and be excited is a reason. So is meeting people and sharing an experience. So is competition which occurs just as vigorously at 6:35 per mile as it does anywhere else. I didn't feel wacky out in the rain. I just felt alive. It's hard to ask for more than that, especially before 9 AM on a Sunday.
Here's the poetic version:
'Twas the night before jingling and all through the house,
my hacking cough was scaring the mouse.
Paul was recovering from an intestinal party
Amelia announced that she'd be quite tardy.
Michelle tracked down friends from her personal history
while Bill disappeared leaving only a mystery.
The maybe's had all turned to no
while the tiny drops of rain wished to be snow.
Darkness and fog were the monuments' blanket
and four of us wondered if we could tank it.
Surrounded by Santa's caps and elfish hoisery
jingle bells were scattered from shoelace to rosary.
Packed in like sardines enjoying a can,
we heard nothing but jingling and saw bouncing man.
On Katie, on Michelle, on Dave, and Paul
running a 10k for one and all.
Paul bolted early like a missile toe should,
and conquered Hain's point before the rest of us would.
Next came Dave alone, then Michelle and Katie as a duet,
all ran as quickly as their bodies would let.
The fog never lifted, but spirits were bright
those elfish legs were quite a sight.
All four finished wet and strong,
to the cheers of a jingle bell song.
And then before the risen sun,
we said "That was fun."
Oh and also,
"Merry Christmas to all and to all a good run."
Results here.
Bill did join us and so we managed to place 14th as a team!
The prose version follows:
The runny nose started on Wednesday. The hamstring strain on Thursday. The ankle has been acting up for a couple of weeks and the back jumped into the mix early last week. As the nose was joined by a sore throat and a cough, I stopped pressing and started trying to heal. Cough syrup and vitamin C were in heavy rotation with sleeping.
As I went to bed last night, nursing my NyQuil, I wondered if running in the Jingle Bell 10k was wise. I still wondered at quarter to five when I woke up. I didn't want to miss the race. There was a loose team counting on me and it also happens to be the social event of my weekend. Sniffling, I borrowed a car and headed to the polo fields for the second Sunday in a row.
I arrived by 6 since I still needed to pick up my race bib. I found there are parking spaces in the middle of the night and the early morning. Under the cover of darkness and fog, I picked up my packet and bided my time, inefficiently, I might add. I spent some of the wee hour forgiving myself for taking a car to the race. Not every test of my mettle needs to test every single mettle I've got. I wasn't worried about my race performance, I knew it was going to be a rough day. My main worry was ramifications later in the week and general discomfort from cold and rain. The rain was light. At around 7, I gathered with pieces of a team and we casually made our way to the starting line. We eschewed the warm-up in favor of polite conversation.
I remained well dressed and warm up until start time. Even then, I decided to keep all my clothes on and choose comfort bordering on overheating over a swifter outlook. We missed "go" but followed the hundreds in front of us. I trudged out of the gate and Paul took off. I sped up after him, but could tell that I couldn't keep pace today. I crossed the mile in a comfortable 6:12. I passed a few more people and then found my battleground. In another 6:35, I crossed the two mile mark. Just under a third of the way through and finishing seemed possible.
The jingle bells were louder this year. Perhaps they echoed off the fog on the Potomac. Or maybe my breathing wasn't quite as heavy. There were good moments where I felt strong and fast and bad moments where I felt sickly. For a while "here comes Santa Claus" played on repeat in my head. I crossed the 5k just a hair under 20 minutes, my optimism was intact but fading. I chased some nice looking elf legs and traded places with several challengers in a see-saw battle.
I tried to recall the quote I'd sent out to the team- "It's
very hard to understand in the beginning that the whole idea is not to
beat the other runners. Eventually you learn that the competition is
against the little voice inside you that wants to quit." ~Dr. George
Sheehan. I never came up with it directly, but I felt it most of the way as I battled myself above all others.
I passed mile 5 right at 33 minutes. A sub 40 minute 10k still seemed possible, but it wasn't. I struggled mightily during the last mile and then closed as hard as I could. I finished in 40:53 in 108th place. I was nearly 4 minutes slower than last year, but I was ahead of some of my challengers of this day and behind some others.
Knowing that I'd been sick and unsure of whether I'd even run, I remembered that running fast isn't the only reason I run. Having a sense of purpose, a reason to wake up before the sun and be excited is a reason. So is meeting people and sharing an experience. So is competition which occurs just as vigorously at 6:35 per mile as it does anywhere else. I didn't feel wacky out in the rain. I just felt alive. It's hard to ask for more than that, especially before 9 AM on a Sunday.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Bike sharing
On the surface there seems no reason why I'd need to participate in a bike sharing program in my own town. I've had some success sharing abroad, but a year or two ago when Smartbikes came to DC, I had no use for them. I've got a bike (or two) that I can ride, so I couldn't justify becoming a member of the bike sharing community. The model Smartbikes was using didn't make sense to me either. They wanted a membership fee like Zipcar uses so they could issue a card for using their bikes. I understand why a person can't just walk up, swipe a credit card, and drive, but the same logic doesn't apply for a bike.
Recently, Capital Bikeshare has come to town. They've come to town in a big way, too. While I've only seen two Smartbike locations, I can rattle off at least five Capital Bikeshare racks. Capital Bikeshare has a member fee too, but they get it right because they also have a 24-membership fee of $5. Tourists and those as indecisive as me can take advantage without commitment. Grabbing a bike to get to and from a location in trips of less than 30 minutes keeps that fee at $5. That's more than a bus ride, but getting pretty close to a Metro ride. A little extra time costs more money, but it's a reasonable amount. These bikes aren't meant for all day touring, but they are great for short jaunts.
I chose to test them out because I didn't want to leave my bike locked out in the open all day this past Saturday. I had to be at CUA before the Metro was running. I had limited options, so it seemed like a good excuse for a test. The bikes have three speeds and for city riding third gear was passable. There were a few flat spots on the Metropolitan Branch Trail where I could have used a bigger gear, but it wasn't bad. The seat is oddly lumpy, but not as uncomfortable as it looks. I missed my toe clips a bit, but I suspect I'm in the minority on that. The system is simple to use. The charges are reasonable and now I'm considering adding a bike share membership for the year to my legion of transportation options.
Ah, big city life.
On the surface there seems no reason why I'd need to participate in a bike sharing program in my own town. I've had some success sharing abroad, but a year or two ago when Smartbikes came to DC, I had no use for them. I've got a bike (or two) that I can ride, so I couldn't justify becoming a member of the bike sharing community. The model Smartbikes was using didn't make sense to me either. They wanted a membership fee like Zipcar uses so they could issue a card for using their bikes. I understand why a person can't just walk up, swipe a credit card, and drive, but the same logic doesn't apply for a bike.
Recently, Capital Bikeshare has come to town. They've come to town in a big way, too. While I've only seen two Smartbike locations, I can rattle off at least five Capital Bikeshare racks. Capital Bikeshare has a member fee too, but they get it right because they also have a 24-membership fee of $5. Tourists and those as indecisive as me can take advantage without commitment. Grabbing a bike to get to and from a location in trips of less than 30 minutes keeps that fee at $5. That's more than a bus ride, but getting pretty close to a Metro ride. A little extra time costs more money, but it's a reasonable amount. These bikes aren't meant for all day touring, but they are great for short jaunts.
I chose to test them out because I didn't want to leave my bike locked out in the open all day this past Saturday. I had to be at CUA before the Metro was running. I had limited options, so it seemed like a good excuse for a test. The bikes have three speeds and for city riding third gear was passable. There were a few flat spots on the Metropolitan Branch Trail where I could have used a bigger gear, but it wasn't bad. The seat is oddly lumpy, but not as uncomfortable as it looks. I missed my toe clips a bit, but I suspect I'm in the minority on that. The system is simple to use. The charges are reasonable and now I'm considering adding a bike share membership for the year to my legion of transportation options.
Ah, big city life.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Subs, you say?
For the first time that I can recall, I stood on the sidelines with CUA teams and wondered what to do with all of the subs. The open team had 18 players at CUFF this weekend while the women ran with 11 or 12. I spent most of Saturday with the women. They continue to improve and traded points early with Georgetown, took half, but fell 9-7. They played down to Towson B in a sloppy game and managed to win 9-7. They then took on a fiery Salisbury team and again took half. It was 9-9 as the play-makers for both teams were making plays on offense and defense. Salisbury eventually pulled away to win 11-9, but it all seemed so close. The final game of the day was against powerhouse Maryland and after the tough loss, the egg would not get cracked.
The women’s team is captained by two seniors, both handle well and both claim they’d rather cut, despite their general effectiveness as handlers. I believe the rest of the team, except for one grad student who pops in and out, is sophomores or freshmen, so there’s lots of hope for the future. We’ve got two handlers in training who seem to be improving in those roles, but aren’t quite comfortable yet. There are three sophomores cutting who played at Sectionals last year and they have strong cuts and good hands. All three make a pretty big impact on both sides of the disc, but one in particular has really started to read the disc and catch well above her head. When her hands go up and she starts to extend, 8 times out of 10 she’s been coming down with the disc. This makes her highly effective on offense and a solid deep-deep in the zone on defense. Of the new players, we have a couple speedy receivers who have decent hands and are working on their throws. We have one who quietly goes about her business and I need to watch more closely, but I think she also quietly shuts down her opponents. They just don’t touch the disc. She also came up with one big D on Saturday on a deep put that floated. There are a few others with promise as well. There’s a lot to be excited about, as they notched a hard-cap victory over Messiah and two close losses, one to ?, and one to conference (rival of the future) St. Mary’s. Habit ended up 16th overall, dropping in seed a few notches, but I think they’ll come back stronger.
I spent less time with the men, but got to witness the highlight of the weekend on Saturday. After going 2-1 in pool play, Habit faced off against Salisbury for the right to enter the championship bracket. The basic game plan was to keep our go-to guys in the game until they needed rest. This was 2 cutters and 1 handler. We then rotated 4 handlers around the other 2 handler spots, trying to keep them fresh and focusing on offense or defense where we could. The other 2 cutters were rotated between offense and defense, some occasionally going both ways, but usually between 3 players on either side. Using those 13 players, we still had 5 in reserve on the sidelines. Salisbury felt the full force of this plan as Habit was tearing it up with those 13. It was 4-0 before they knew what hit them. It was 7-2 at half and 13-3 by game’s end. The lengthy defenders gave them fits and the speedy cutters did the same. It was a thing of beauty. It was hard for me to leave 5 people standing on the sidelines, but they all said they understood and if they truly did, I have high hopes for the future.
When we tried the same mix again against Delaware on Sunday, we found out that Delaware was not as impressed. We fought hard, but Delaware was much stronger and dispatched Habit 13-5 (I think). From there, our legs started to give. We gave Rutgers an early fight, but made some costly mistakes and seemed to lose interest in defense so we fell behind 7-3, before opening up the rotation and losing 13-4 (I think). It was a similar story with Towson, particularly because they made sure to keep the disc out of the right hands making our offense sputter. That too was made worse by some ill-timed (or well-forced) mistakes. We didn’t open that one up for rotating in subs, and soon fell 13-4 (or 5). I didn’t watch the game for 15th place, but with an open rotation and our captains on the sidelines, we fell hard again. We all checked our egos as best we could and hope that we’ll build character from this experience. I have high hopes for the team this year. They look as strong as ever and we have some depth to go with the talent. We’re going to have to more fully form into a team, but I think we took a step in the right direction as we move toward the vision of DIII Nationals. I don’t think it will be an easy road, but with some time together and some good luck, I think it’s a very real possibility. That’s pretty exciting. And subs are pretty exciting too!
For the first time that I can recall, I stood on the sidelines with CUA teams and wondered what to do with all of the subs. The open team had 18 players at CUFF this weekend while the women ran with 11 or 12. I spent most of Saturday with the women. They continue to improve and traded points early with Georgetown, took half, but fell 9-7. They played down to Towson B in a sloppy game and managed to win 9-7. They then took on a fiery Salisbury team and again took half. It was 9-9 as the play-makers for both teams were making plays on offense and defense. Salisbury eventually pulled away to win 11-9, but it all seemed so close. The final game of the day was against powerhouse Maryland and after the tough loss, the egg would not get cracked.
The women’s team is captained by two seniors, both handle well and both claim they’d rather cut, despite their general effectiveness as handlers. I believe the rest of the team, except for one grad student who pops in and out, is sophomores or freshmen, so there’s lots of hope for the future. We’ve got two handlers in training who seem to be improving in those roles, but aren’t quite comfortable yet. There are three sophomores cutting who played at Sectionals last year and they have strong cuts and good hands. All three make a pretty big impact on both sides of the disc, but one in particular has really started to read the disc and catch well above her head. When her hands go up and she starts to extend, 8 times out of 10 she’s been coming down with the disc. This makes her highly effective on offense and a solid deep-deep in the zone on defense. Of the new players, we have a couple speedy receivers who have decent hands and are working on their throws. We have one who quietly goes about her business and I need to watch more closely, but I think she also quietly shuts down her opponents. They just don’t touch the disc. She also came up with one big D on Saturday on a deep put that floated. There are a few others with promise as well. There’s a lot to be excited about, as they notched a hard-cap victory over Messiah and two close losses, one to ?, and one to conference (rival of the future) St. Mary’s. Habit ended up 16th overall, dropping in seed a few notches, but I think they’ll come back stronger.
I spent less time with the men, but got to witness the highlight of the weekend on Saturday. After going 2-1 in pool play, Habit faced off against Salisbury for the right to enter the championship bracket. The basic game plan was to keep our go-to guys in the game until they needed rest. This was 2 cutters and 1 handler. We then rotated 4 handlers around the other 2 handler spots, trying to keep them fresh and focusing on offense or defense where we could. The other 2 cutters were rotated between offense and defense, some occasionally going both ways, but usually between 3 players on either side. Using those 13 players, we still had 5 in reserve on the sidelines. Salisbury felt the full force of this plan as Habit was tearing it up with those 13. It was 4-0 before they knew what hit them. It was 7-2 at half and 13-3 by game’s end. The lengthy defenders gave them fits and the speedy cutters did the same. It was a thing of beauty. It was hard for me to leave 5 people standing on the sidelines, but they all said they understood and if they truly did, I have high hopes for the future.
When we tried the same mix again against Delaware on Sunday, we found out that Delaware was not as impressed. We fought hard, but Delaware was much stronger and dispatched Habit 13-5 (I think). From there, our legs started to give. We gave Rutgers an early fight, but made some costly mistakes and seemed to lose interest in defense so we fell behind 7-3, before opening up the rotation and losing 13-4 (I think). It was a similar story with Towson, particularly because they made sure to keep the disc out of the right hands making our offense sputter. That too was made worse by some ill-timed (or well-forced) mistakes. We didn’t open that one up for rotating in subs, and soon fell 13-4 (or 5). I didn’t watch the game for 15th place, but with an open rotation and our captains on the sidelines, we fell hard again. We all checked our egos as best we could and hope that we’ll build character from this experience. I have high hopes for the team this year. They look as strong as ever and we have some depth to go with the talent. We’re going to have to more fully form into a team, but I think we took a step in the right direction as we move toward the vision of DIII Nationals. I don’t think it will be an easy road, but with some time together and some good luck, I think it’s a very real possibility. That’s pretty exciting. And subs are pretty exciting too!
Thursday, November 04, 2010
The ghost of an omelet
The manufactured screams from across the street had mostly died down. Only the fog machine and the flashing lights continued. The bewitching hour for small children had passed. The little super heroes had left the streets and taken plastic pumpkins full of candy with them. The night was not quiet yet, but activity was on the decline. I settled in to watch television.
The THWACK of my second floor apartment living room window reminded me that Halloween was not yet over. I didn't even have time to turn before egg was streaming down the window like the unfertilized chicken goo it had become. Glancing out the window I saw the teens who weren't even amused by their violent act. Letting out a yelp, I dashed to the fridge. I swung open the door like it belonged to a saloon and prepared to retaliate. The carton was my holster, and I drew my guns. I ran to the window with the logic of the King of Babylon swirling in my subconscious. An egg for an egg. It seemed just, but I fumbled too long and the teens soon were well out of range.
Still, I stood with egg in hand, waiting. I considered leaving the egg out at the ready in case I faced another attack, but thought better of it. Instead, I opened the window and cleaned the mess. As I hung out on the ledge wiping away the goo, my only defense was a shake of my fist at "those darn kids."
The manufactured screams from across the street had mostly died down. Only the fog machine and the flashing lights continued. The bewitching hour for small children had passed. The little super heroes had left the streets and taken plastic pumpkins full of candy with them. The night was not quiet yet, but activity was on the decline. I settled in to watch television.
The THWACK of my second floor apartment living room window reminded me that Halloween was not yet over. I didn't even have time to turn before egg was streaming down the window like the unfertilized chicken goo it had become. Glancing out the window I saw the teens who weren't even amused by their violent act. Letting out a yelp, I dashed to the fridge. I swung open the door like it belonged to a saloon and prepared to retaliate. The carton was my holster, and I drew my guns. I ran to the window with the logic of the King of Babylon swirling in my subconscious. An egg for an egg. It seemed just, but I fumbled too long and the teens soon were well out of range.
Still, I stood with egg in hand, waiting. I considered leaving the egg out at the ready in case I faced another attack, but thought better of it. Instead, I opened the window and cleaned the mess. As I hung out on the ledge wiping away the goo, my only defense was a shake of my fist at "those darn kids."
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Yes
I just want to let out a guttural roar of satisfaction. It wasn't always beautiful, but my Ultimate team came to play today. That's what I wanted. We ran some good warm-up drills put on by our leaders and the wind helped reinforce our strategy. It was a back and forth battle for the first half and then we mostly cruised in the second half. I'm still struggling with my handler role. I got point-blocked and I made a few ugly throws, but I feel like there was some good work too. We all still made some mistakes, but we were making them at full speed and that meant we also made some great plays. There were some big throws, big catches, and bid d. Yes. Thank you, team. I hope we can keep that rolling.
I just want to let out a guttural roar of satisfaction. It wasn't always beautiful, but my Ultimate team came to play today. That's what I wanted. We ran some good warm-up drills put on by our leaders and the wind helped reinforce our strategy. It was a back and forth battle for the first half and then we mostly cruised in the second half. I'm still struggling with my handler role. I got point-blocked and I made a few ugly throws, but I feel like there was some good work too. We all still made some mistakes, but we were making them at full speed and that meant we also made some great plays. There were some big throws, big catches, and bid d. Yes. Thank you, team. I hope we can keep that rolling.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Hi, Grandma
As I flip the channels and find Dancing with Stars and a musical called Glee, I can't help but think of my grandma. She watched Lawrence Welk, owned about two VHS tapes, Gigi and My Fair Lady, both gifts and always said, "They just don't make 'em like they used to."
That's probably still true, but the singing and dancing seem like they'd be right up Grandma's alley. Well, at least the dancing.
As I flip the channels and find Dancing with Stars and a musical called Glee, I can't help but think of my grandma. She watched Lawrence Welk, owned about two VHS tapes, Gigi and My Fair Lady, both gifts and always said, "They just don't make 'em like they used to."
That's probably still true, but the singing and dancing seem like they'd be right up Grandma's alley. Well, at least the dancing.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Apparent tragedy and the Internet
I have a friend whose significant other is apparently lost in the woods. He went on a solo hike some days ago, didn't show up at the appointed hour, and hasn't been heard from since. The search teams have been called off after several days of searching. Everything I know about these events I've heard from the Internet. The initial message that he was late was a Facebook status update. The outpouring of prayer and support were comments and wall posts. The updates were links to local news reports. I've followed along with a clump of fear in my throat and a mind filled with hope.
I'm trying to imagine the emotions my friend must be feeling, but my attempts at empathy are impotent. I can't face my fears, let alone hers. This may be a personal failing or it may be the only way I can continue to function. The only emotion that I can get a grip on is hope. I have hope that somehow the searches missed him and hope that he'll appear. I have hope that everyone involved has the strength to deal with these events and hope that if I'm ever faced with something so serious that I have the support and strength to do the same. I also have hope that my examination of my feelings on this issue in a public forum isn't inappropriate. I'm plowing forward because I have something to say. Is that enough? Several comments on the news sites seem to suggest it is.
I wouldn't usually take my lead from Internet commenters, but I feel an urge to defend a man I don't know. Some commenters, armed only with the knowledge of a few lines in a news report, are prepared to say that he was unprepared for this hike. I can't defend his hiking abilities, but I staunchly defend his right to go on this hike alone and off the grid. I have to believe that what these commenters are really saying is that they have hope. They are grappling with the decisions they make in their lives and on their hikes and they see something familiar in this situation. Recognizing themselves, they can only manage to express their hope in a twisted way. They have hope that if they find themselves in a dangerous or potentially tragic situation they will be able to find a way to survive. I think we all have that hope or we would never leave our homes.
I wish for courage and peace for all involved.
I have a friend whose significant other is apparently lost in the woods. He went on a solo hike some days ago, didn't show up at the appointed hour, and hasn't been heard from since. The search teams have been called off after several days of searching. Everything I know about these events I've heard from the Internet. The initial message that he was late was a Facebook status update. The outpouring of prayer and support were comments and wall posts. The updates were links to local news reports. I've followed along with a clump of fear in my throat and a mind filled with hope.
I'm trying to imagine the emotions my friend must be feeling, but my attempts at empathy are impotent. I can't face my fears, let alone hers. This may be a personal failing or it may be the only way I can continue to function. The only emotion that I can get a grip on is hope. I have hope that somehow the searches missed him and hope that he'll appear. I have hope that everyone involved has the strength to deal with these events and hope that if I'm ever faced with something so serious that I have the support and strength to do the same. I also have hope that my examination of my feelings on this issue in a public forum isn't inappropriate. I'm plowing forward because I have something to say. Is that enough? Several comments on the news sites seem to suggest it is.
I wouldn't usually take my lead from Internet commenters, but I feel an urge to defend a man I don't know. Some commenters, armed only with the knowledge of a few lines in a news report, are prepared to say that he was unprepared for this hike. I can't defend his hiking abilities, but I staunchly defend his right to go on this hike alone and off the grid. I have to believe that what these commenters are really saying is that they have hope. They are grappling with the decisions they make in their lives and on their hikes and they see something familiar in this situation. Recognizing themselves, they can only manage to express their hope in a twisted way. They have hope that if they find themselves in a dangerous or potentially tragic situation they will be able to find a way to survive. I think we all have that hope or we would never leave our homes.
I wish for courage and peace for all involved.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Trust on the Ultimate field
As I had previously recounted, the lowlight of my trip to Mixed Sectionals in September wasn't that we lost all of our games. It was a great day of Ultimate, but for the very end. In a tie game at the end of a long day, I tried to do too much. I was focused down field because I lost trust that my other handlers could move the disc. I stopped picking my spots and played a desperate brand of Ultimate that ended up costing us the game when my hucks went to no one. I mention this moment, because recently trust has caught my attention again.
My league team seems to have abandoned trust of each other. We aren't making dump throws. Handlers aren't waiting to set up their dump cuts, they are just charging in and putting themselves in a poor position. Markers aren't letting downfield defenders do their work, instead they are overplaying fakes which allows easy break throws. Throwers aren't moving the disc, they are looking for the big strike. We can attribute a variety of causes to these behaviors, but I think it boils down mainly to trust.
I've identified the issue, but I don't know how to remedy the problem. How do we get trust back? It's simple to say do the right thing, but how do we get to a point of believing it? How many players have to believe?
I sometimes wonder if I have a tendency to over-think, but in Ultimate that's usually not my problem. Something must be done. I've turned to the written word as my first attempt and thought I would share it here.
Dear Team,
I’m going to trot out a sports quote out for you.
“It’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game.”
I’ve seen you at your best. I know the sort of high-flying, hard-charging, crisp-throwing Ultimate players that you can be. I know that together we can play a beautiful game of Ultimate. We’ve spent the last few years battling it out with very talented teams and often we’ve come out on the losing end. There were days when I wished for more depth on our sidelines, but I’ve always been proud of our efforts. I’ve seen nearly every one of you fighting tooth and nail to get open on a cut, to make a D, to put yourself to the test against some of the area’s finest players. I have always been pleased to be a part of Team and it’s with that in mind that I write this note and ask this of you.
Can we be the beautiful Team next week and beyond?
The Team I know and love gets down on the pull. We play hard defense. We trust our mark, our throwers, and our dump. We make easy throws when we can and we find ways to make plays when we need to. Can we be that team? I think we can. How? I think the first step is in our approach to the game. We need to look at the players we are facing and see them as REAL threats, because they are. Then we need to shut them down. We do that individually and we do that as part of a team. It takes both pieces in that equation for us to succeed- individually and as part of a team.
Maybe you’re thinking, “We’ve won almost all of our games, right?” We have, but I need us to be better. I want to be a part of something special. I think that something special is an Ultimate team that’s playing to its potential, an Ultimate team that is BETTER than its individual players. That’s what I want. Can you help me get there?
Thanks and glug,
Dave
As I had previously recounted, the lowlight of my trip to Mixed Sectionals in September wasn't that we lost all of our games. It was a great day of Ultimate, but for the very end. In a tie game at the end of a long day, I tried to do too much. I was focused down field because I lost trust that my other handlers could move the disc. I stopped picking my spots and played a desperate brand of Ultimate that ended up costing us the game when my hucks went to no one. I mention this moment, because recently trust has caught my attention again.
My league team seems to have abandoned trust of each other. We aren't making dump throws. Handlers aren't waiting to set up their dump cuts, they are just charging in and putting themselves in a poor position. Markers aren't letting downfield defenders do their work, instead they are overplaying fakes which allows easy break throws. Throwers aren't moving the disc, they are looking for the big strike. We can attribute a variety of causes to these behaviors, but I think it boils down mainly to trust.
I've identified the issue, but I don't know how to remedy the problem. How do we get trust back? It's simple to say do the right thing, but how do we get to a point of believing it? How many players have to believe?
I sometimes wonder if I have a tendency to over-think, but in Ultimate that's usually not my problem. Something must be done. I've turned to the written word as my first attempt and thought I would share it here.
Dear Team,
I’m going to trot out a sports quote out for you.
“It’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game.”
I’ve seen you at your best. I know the sort of high-flying, hard-charging, crisp-throwing Ultimate players that you can be. I know that together we can play a beautiful game of Ultimate. We’ve spent the last few years battling it out with very talented teams and often we’ve come out on the losing end. There were days when I wished for more depth on our sidelines, but I’ve always been proud of our efforts. I’ve seen nearly every one of you fighting tooth and nail to get open on a cut, to make a D, to put yourself to the test against some of the area’s finest players. I have always been pleased to be a part of Team and it’s with that in mind that I write this note and ask this of you.
Can we be the beautiful Team next week and beyond?
The Team I know and love gets down on the pull. We play hard defense. We trust our mark, our throwers, and our dump. We make easy throws when we can and we find ways to make plays when we need to. Can we be that team? I think we can. How? I think the first step is in our approach to the game. We need to look at the players we are facing and see them as REAL threats, because they are. Then we need to shut them down. We do that individually and we do that as part of a team. It takes both pieces in that equation for us to succeed- individually and as part of a team.
Maybe you’re thinking, “We’ve won almost all of our games, right?” We have, but I need us to be better. I want to be a part of something special. I think that something special is an Ultimate team that’s playing to its potential, an Ultimate team that is BETTER than its individual players. That’s what I want. Can you help me get there?
Thanks and glug,
Dave
Saturday, October 09, 2010
Honestly, I thought you were a liar
I must have some verbal tick that annoys those who listen. I suspect it's the way I finish sentences with an inflection that indicates that I have more to say. I shouldn't complain, but I sit on my glass recliner in my glass apartment and prepare my stones for throwing.
I thought we'd passed this point, DC people. It seemed we'd moved on to a more truthful age. A truthful age where statements no longer needed to be held up by the word "honestly". Honestly is creeping back in to the vernacular or it's creeping back under my skin. If a speaker tends to lie, then perhaps the use of honestly is appropriate. It must act as a signal that while other statments are lies, this one is truth. It's a beacon, but how can I be sure that even the use of honestly is not a lie? I cannot.
My preference would be for speakers to make honest statements and leave the honestlies at home buried in the back of the closet. I'll agree to believe it, if speakers would just agree to let me try.
I must have some verbal tick that annoys those who listen. I suspect it's the way I finish sentences with an inflection that indicates that I have more to say. I shouldn't complain, but I sit on my glass recliner in my glass apartment and prepare my stones for throwing.
I thought we'd passed this point, DC people. It seemed we'd moved on to a more truthful age. A truthful age where statements no longer needed to be held up by the word "honestly". Honestly is creeping back in to the vernacular or it's creeping back under my skin. If a speaker tends to lie, then perhaps the use of honestly is appropriate. It must act as a signal that while other statments are lies, this one is truth. It's a beacon, but how can I be sure that even the use of honestly is not a lie? I cannot.
My preference would be for speakers to make honest statements and leave the honestlies at home buried in the back of the closet. I'll agree to believe it, if speakers would just agree to let me try.
Thursday, October 07, 2010
It all works out
The following anecdotes are connected, but I cannot prove it. That sounds far more compelling than it is. There aren't many moments when I wish I had a car, but Saturday I had one of those moments. Arriving by Metro at a Virginia high school, I discovered that I was actually supposed to be playing Ultimate at a Maryland middle school. Without a car, I had no hope of switching states to make even part of the game. I was stranded without Ultimate. Also, I forgot my public transit reading material. All of this, to quote some surfer dude, bummed me out.
In order to make up for missed Ultimate, I began to search for a suitable running replacement on Sunday morning. I found one, not too far away, but decided that the price and the early schedule did not suit me well, so I went about my normal schedule. As I awaited Sunday scrimmage with Habit, a sign went up on the wall behind me. It was a sign for a 5k. It was a sign for a 5k that started in 20 minutes. This late advertisement was perfect for me, but did suggest some level of disorganization.
Scrimmage time and race time supposedly coincided. I stood around waiting for players for the scrimmage and then decided that I could run a 5k and probably be ready for scrimmage when warm-ups concluded. My guess turned out to be a little off, but I went to enter the race. I expected a $5 race and was instead told that the entry fee was $25. Whoa, I said with a $10 bill in my hand. I don't need to race that much I thought as I backed up from the table. With a look to the left and right, the official decided that $10 were better than $0 and I was entered in the race. I was then asked if I'd be in the under 15, 15-21, or 21 and above category. I looked at the choices on the page and asked, "Do you want my age?"
"No, your time," was the reply
I'm no slouch when it comes to a 5k, but if anybody showed up on this Sunday morning to run under 15 minutes, they should really consider a return to division one college athletics. I picked the middle category and began to wonder what I was getting in to. I was getting in to laps on the track. That was ok, at least it was until they said that we'd be running 14 laps. I did some calculating in my head. I admit it wasn't sophisticated, but 5k is 5000 meters. It's an actual distance not a cute name for a run. The 14 laps on a track would each be 400 meters long. That would yield 5600 meters. This was no 5k. Still ok, but a little annoying since the track was probably marked with a 5k starting mark, it being a track and all.
We lined up on the starting line. No one was interested in lane 1, so I took it figuring that I wouldn't be too far off the lead. I tried to determine if passing slower runners should occur on the inside or the outside, but the race "official" could only tell me to use good running etiquette. That was really no help at all.
We heard go and we ran. For the first 400-800 meters, I led and tried to control my pace to be right at 6 minutes per mile. I heard footsteps and wondered how long they would be present. Soon they died off as I held my pace. It was almost right at 6 minutes at the mile. I was responsibly counting my laps which turned out to be fortunate when the "official" asked me what lap I was on. I focused harder on not losing track of my laps after that. I kept clicking through at slightly under 6 minutes per mile pace and as I felt comfortable began to speed up a bit. Round and round and round I went. I kicked it in as best I could the last two laps, ran 20:15, shook a couple of hands, and then walked away to be present at Ultimate practice. It was strangely disconnected and satisfying.
As I was leaving, someone called out to me, "Come get your prize." They seemed unsure about something, so I assumed it was a joke, but no, there was a prize. Someday soon, I'll bowl for free. The spoils. The spoils.
The following anecdotes are connected, but I cannot prove it. That sounds far more compelling than it is. There aren't many moments when I wish I had a car, but Saturday I had one of those moments. Arriving by Metro at a Virginia high school, I discovered that I was actually supposed to be playing Ultimate at a Maryland middle school. Without a car, I had no hope of switching states to make even part of the game. I was stranded without Ultimate. Also, I forgot my public transit reading material. All of this, to quote some surfer dude, bummed me out.
In order to make up for missed Ultimate, I began to search for a suitable running replacement on Sunday morning. I found one, not too far away, but decided that the price and the early schedule did not suit me well, so I went about my normal schedule. As I awaited Sunday scrimmage with Habit, a sign went up on the wall behind me. It was a sign for a 5k. It was a sign for a 5k that started in 20 minutes. This late advertisement was perfect for me, but did suggest some level of disorganization.
Scrimmage time and race time supposedly coincided. I stood around waiting for players for the scrimmage and then decided that I could run a 5k and probably be ready for scrimmage when warm-ups concluded. My guess turned out to be a little off, but I went to enter the race. I expected a $5 race and was instead told that the entry fee was $25. Whoa, I said with a $10 bill in my hand. I don't need to race that much I thought as I backed up from the table. With a look to the left and right, the official decided that $10 were better than $0 and I was entered in the race. I was then asked if I'd be in the under 15, 15-21, or 21 and above category. I looked at the choices on the page and asked, "Do you want my age?"
"No, your time," was the reply
I'm no slouch when it comes to a 5k, but if anybody showed up on this Sunday morning to run under 15 minutes, they should really consider a return to division one college athletics. I picked the middle category and began to wonder what I was getting in to. I was getting in to laps on the track. That was ok, at least it was until they said that we'd be running 14 laps. I did some calculating in my head. I admit it wasn't sophisticated, but 5k is 5000 meters. It's an actual distance not a cute name for a run. The 14 laps on a track would each be 400 meters long. That would yield 5600 meters. This was no 5k. Still ok, but a little annoying since the track was probably marked with a 5k starting mark, it being a track and all.
We lined up on the starting line. No one was interested in lane 1, so I took it figuring that I wouldn't be too far off the lead. I tried to determine if passing slower runners should occur on the inside or the outside, but the race "official" could only tell me to use good running etiquette. That was really no help at all.
We heard go and we ran. For the first 400-800 meters, I led and tried to control my pace to be right at 6 minutes per mile. I heard footsteps and wondered how long they would be present. Soon they died off as I held my pace. It was almost right at 6 minutes at the mile. I was responsibly counting my laps which turned out to be fortunate when the "official" asked me what lap I was on. I focused harder on not losing track of my laps after that. I kept clicking through at slightly under 6 minutes per mile pace and as I felt comfortable began to speed up a bit. Round and round and round I went. I kicked it in as best I could the last two laps, ran 20:15, shook a couple of hands, and then walked away to be present at Ultimate practice. It was strangely disconnected and satisfying.
As I was leaving, someone called out to me, "Come get your prize." They seemed unsure about something, so I assumed it was a joke, but no, there was a prize. Someday soon, I'll bowl for free. The spoils. The spoils.
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