Therapy
Two hard bounces of synthetic cow on concrete. One fluid motion to push the ball into the air before letting gravity take over. The soft pause of scuffed orange sphere falling against sun-worn criss-cross of white netting. Repeat.
Pleasure, purpose, points. There's a deep relaxation technique that I find myself missing on this Sunday afternoon. The driveway basketball hoop. Its virtues have been extolled in this space before. The hoop absorbed unrequited loves and insecurity. The bouncing ball followed no script and was not a metaphor. The neighbors were all inside, but I stood in the driveway lost in shot. My thoughts circled the makeshift court bouncing from the problem of the day to the next reverse lay-in. Nothing can be so bad if the shots are falling. With no defense, the shots had a way of falling, even for a runner.
I could use that today. Something to shake the earth one thud at a time. Something to shoot toward. Something to make. Something to repeat.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
2.65 things
1. Monday night I went to see Leonard Cohen live and in concert. Even though I was only familiar with one of his songs, I found his music to be very accessible. He had some great lyrics, sung in that gravelly 74-year old man voice and the songs seemed to flow together like one long song with changes in pace and instrumentation. My favorite lyric of the night was not "Where is my gypsy wife?" although that one sticks in my head, but instead, "There is a crack in everything/ that's how the light gets in." Lenny came on for encore after encore and eventually outlasted us in the cold and rain.
2. I went to graduation yesterday to support those with Bad Habits on their resume. I managed to spot four and congratulate three. Despite the rain, the optimism and idealism were everywhere, particularly in the address. My own graduations were always rather anti-climatic, but witnessing someone else's seemed somehow more purposeful. Congrats, grads.
.65. Nutella, advanced degrees, psoas
1. Monday night I went to see Leonard Cohen live and in concert. Even though I was only familiar with one of his songs, I found his music to be very accessible. He had some great lyrics, sung in that gravelly 74-year old man voice and the songs seemed to flow together like one long song with changes in pace and instrumentation. My favorite lyric of the night was not "Where is my gypsy wife?" although that one sticks in my head, but instead, "There is a crack in everything/ that's how the light gets in." Lenny came on for encore after encore and eventually outlasted us in the cold and rain.
2. I went to graduation yesterday to support those with Bad Habits on their resume. I managed to spot four and congratulate three. Despite the rain, the optimism and idealism were everywhere, particularly in the address. My own graduations were always rather anti-climatic, but witnessing someone else's seemed somehow more purposeful. Congrats, grads.
.65. Nutella, advanced degrees, psoas
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Fun runs are not high school
High school cross-country practice was five days a week. In the good years, the same seven to ten guys all ran together on most runs. In the lean years, the same three or four were all there day in and day out. There was always an element of competition, even in practice. It took a lot of willpower and the occasional reminder from Coach that every day was not a race. The group of guys were working toward the same races.
There's an element of competition at the fun runs I attend. The difference is there is less familiarity, no coach, and everybody is on his or her own race schedule. Last night, I felt good, so I rejoined the "fast guys" who headed out the door claiming they would run about seven minute per mile pace. It quickly became obvious that false modesty was at play here. I struggled to get my legs moving to keep up with the pair I was now running behind. I suppose I could have slowed and maintained the agreed upon pace, but instead I was caught up in going lickety-split. I suspect we were out in a touch over six minute per mile pace for the first mile or so. I found my stride and soon after, the man I had bounded after announced that he was feeling fatigued. I thought it was more false modesty until he pulled up and slowed way down. Annoyed, with my legs awake, I decided to continue on at a quick pace. I didn't see the point in ripping off a first mile and then slowing way down. The respectful thing to do would have been to communicate that plan from the start. My suspicion is that the real intent had been to run us off the pace, slow down, and then keep us uncomfortable in the event that we had caught back up. That plan failed when I didn't go away. So, the new plan was to pound out the rest of the run as best I could on my own. I slowed a little, but still think I was running about six-fifteen to six-twenty pace. I was alone, just off race pace for the five mile distance and feeling great on a perfect evening.
I really appreciate having people to run with. It makes me miss that high school team experience. As I go to these runs, I need to make sure that I am building toward my goals, because no one else is looking out for them. Fortunately, my goal last night was to have a good crisp run. It got a little crispier than expected, but I'll take it.
High school cross-country practice was five days a week. In the good years, the same seven to ten guys all ran together on most runs. In the lean years, the same three or four were all there day in and day out. There was always an element of competition, even in practice. It took a lot of willpower and the occasional reminder from Coach that every day was not a race. The group of guys were working toward the same races.
There's an element of competition at the fun runs I attend. The difference is there is less familiarity, no coach, and everybody is on his or her own race schedule. Last night, I felt good, so I rejoined the "fast guys" who headed out the door claiming they would run about seven minute per mile pace. It quickly became obvious that false modesty was at play here. I struggled to get my legs moving to keep up with the pair I was now running behind. I suppose I could have slowed and maintained the agreed upon pace, but instead I was caught up in going lickety-split. I suspect we were out in a touch over six minute per mile pace for the first mile or so. I found my stride and soon after, the man I had bounded after announced that he was feeling fatigued. I thought it was more false modesty until he pulled up and slowed way down. Annoyed, with my legs awake, I decided to continue on at a quick pace. I didn't see the point in ripping off a first mile and then slowing way down. The respectful thing to do would have been to communicate that plan from the start. My suspicion is that the real intent had been to run us off the pace, slow down, and then keep us uncomfortable in the event that we had caught back up. That plan failed when I didn't go away. So, the new plan was to pound out the rest of the run as best I could on my own. I slowed a little, but still think I was running about six-fifteen to six-twenty pace. I was alone, just off race pace for the five mile distance and feeling great on a perfect evening.
I really appreciate having people to run with. It makes me miss that high school team experience. As I go to these runs, I need to make sure that I am building toward my goals, because no one else is looking out for them. Fortunately, my goal last night was to have a good crisp run. It got a little crispier than expected, but I'll take it.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
More advertising
I've seen live advertising before, but it usually takes the form of young gentlemen spinning signs or folks dressed up in ridiculous costumes, like hot dogs. I've also seen live advertising at events like conventions or concerts. The last two days, I've seen lunch time live advertising on the streets of DC. Monday it took the form of two guys camping out on the street corner. They had a tent, a pine tree, and were pretending to roast marshmallows over a fire. They were unobtrusive, but eye-catching. It was an ad for Zipcar, a company I'm a fan of that rents cars hourly, and their sign said something like "You'll need us to get here." I dug it. Today, I found five women in fancy clothes carrying large shopping bags from recognizable department stores. They chattered together as they walked down the street. Their chatter was broadcast from their microphones and through speakers on a wagon. Every hundred yards or so, they would stop and stage a fashion intervention among themselves. I admit I didn't pay too much attention, but I and some of my fellow lunchers were annoyed. It felt like an invasion. It was blatantly fake and since it was some kind of performance I had the urge to boo. I didn't, but I returned to my office to complain. When I told my coworkers, they said, "Well, all PR is good PR. They've got you talking." I was talking, but I've got a bad taste in my mouth. I wasn't the target audience, and I certainly wasn't encouraged to go shopping.
I'm curious to know if live advertising is worth it. I suspect these people were paid minimum wage. They probably got several thousand views. I like the effort even if I don't like the execution.
I've seen live advertising before, but it usually takes the form of young gentlemen spinning signs or folks dressed up in ridiculous costumes, like hot dogs. I've also seen live advertising at events like conventions or concerts. The last two days, I've seen lunch time live advertising on the streets of DC. Monday it took the form of two guys camping out on the street corner. They had a tent, a pine tree, and were pretending to roast marshmallows over a fire. They were unobtrusive, but eye-catching. It was an ad for Zipcar, a company I'm a fan of that rents cars hourly, and their sign said something like "You'll need us to get here." I dug it. Today, I found five women in fancy clothes carrying large shopping bags from recognizable department stores. They chattered together as they walked down the street. Their chatter was broadcast from their microphones and through speakers on a wagon. Every hundred yards or so, they would stop and stage a fashion intervention among themselves. I admit I didn't pay too much attention, but I and some of my fellow lunchers were annoyed. It felt like an invasion. It was blatantly fake and since it was some kind of performance I had the urge to boo. I didn't, but I returned to my office to complain. When I told my coworkers, they said, "Well, all PR is good PR. They've got you talking." I was talking, but I've got a bad taste in my mouth. I wasn't the target audience, and I certainly wasn't encouraged to go shopping.
I'm curious to know if live advertising is worth it. I suspect these people were paid minimum wage. They probably got several thousand views. I like the effort even if I don't like the execution.
Tying together Ultimate and New Year's Resolutions. Finally.
About three weeks ago, Ultimate failed me or I took part in its failure. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell which. It was a global-warming is coming hard kind of day, a thermometer-checking sweat-drenched shirt June day in April. We had a double-header scheduled and ample subs. We must have suited up in our lead boots. The other team was wearing their aluminum shoes. Few times in my life have I seen so little enthusiasm for a game of Ultimate. My team played without trust or enthusiasm. The other team played just well enough to beat us. We politely spoke in the huddle of pulling ourselves together, but there was nothing. No one could stir us up and lead us. I made a few feeble attempts, but was squashed for being reluctant. My failures were our failures. We took to ill-advised hucks after our half-hearted in cuts failed us. The other teams were far more talented in the air, but we still clung to a strategy that doomed us. I know that now in hindsight, but I couldn’t see it in the haze of the day.
I left bitter and dejected. I left ready to put my Ultimate playing career mostly in the rearview mirror. That’s a bad day. We improved the next week under more familiar leadership, winning a game against a team that expected to beat us. I miffed a gorgeous hammer that practically landed in my hand as I ran down the field in a full sprint, but otherwise played reasonably well, even breaking the mark with a flick and playing acceptable containment defense. The win felt good, but I still felt a little bruised and beaten. This is where I admit that while I love the team aspect of Ultimate, sometimes my own ego gets in the way. It’s great to be a cog in a machine, but sometimes I want to be a bright shiny cog that gets noticed. I try to control it, but sometimes that need still seeps out.
This past week as I rode my bike down from the suburbs to the site of our previous failure, I mentally prepared myself. It wasn’t as hot and muggy, but I wasn’t going to come out lethargic and I wanted to do a better job at picking the team up as best I could. I gave myself a little pep talk and came ready to play. I took a few hits early when my mark got broken, but I came out with some intensity. I did my best not to let my spirits fall. I stayed engaged on the sidelines. I looked to make the most of my points. After the team’s rough start, we began to battle back. I found myself in a nice battle with a very good player on the other team. We were going back and forth. I couldn’t manufacture any D’s, but I was close enough to cause some errant throws. The team as a whole still had trouble cutting and gelling, but at least we had some fight in us this time around. After one turn, we moved the disc up the field and I found myself marked in a three on two situation. I cocked back and threw up a hammer for a score. It was a nice surprise. The bigger surprise for me was when I turned to the sidelines and gestured for them to get fired up. We closed the gap to 1 point, but then couldn’t find our way. I begged off on one zone point. Then with the game on the line, we played zone again. I was short deep and I really think I blew it. I wasn’t following the poppers all the way into the cup and they were moving the disc. When we switched to man, I bit on a fake and watched my guy throw for a score. I guess I had a rough start and a rough finish, but overall I was pleased with the effort.
I’m not as proud of my post-game reaction. I grabbed my hat and flung it into the air as I announced, “Zone is for old people,” in frustration. The real frustration was with my failure, but instead of accepting that I blamed the scheme. I was able to turn the tide on intensity, now I need to shift my thinking on my reactions. I think that was one of my New Year’s Resolutions. Looks like there is still work to be done. Ultimate and I didn't fail each other at all. We just opened up an area for new lessons.
About three weeks ago, Ultimate failed me or I took part in its failure. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell which. It was a global-warming is coming hard kind of day, a thermometer-checking sweat-drenched shirt June day in April. We had a double-header scheduled and ample subs. We must have suited up in our lead boots. The other team was wearing their aluminum shoes. Few times in my life have I seen so little enthusiasm for a game of Ultimate. My team played without trust or enthusiasm. The other team played just well enough to beat us. We politely spoke in the huddle of pulling ourselves together, but there was nothing. No one could stir us up and lead us. I made a few feeble attempts, but was squashed for being reluctant. My failures were our failures. We took to ill-advised hucks after our half-hearted in cuts failed us. The other teams were far more talented in the air, but we still clung to a strategy that doomed us. I know that now in hindsight, but I couldn’t see it in the haze of the day.
I left bitter and dejected. I left ready to put my Ultimate playing career mostly in the rearview mirror. That’s a bad day. We improved the next week under more familiar leadership, winning a game against a team that expected to beat us. I miffed a gorgeous hammer that practically landed in my hand as I ran down the field in a full sprint, but otherwise played reasonably well, even breaking the mark with a flick and playing acceptable containment defense. The win felt good, but I still felt a little bruised and beaten. This is where I admit that while I love the team aspect of Ultimate, sometimes my own ego gets in the way. It’s great to be a cog in a machine, but sometimes I want to be a bright shiny cog that gets noticed. I try to control it, but sometimes that need still seeps out.
This past week as I rode my bike down from the suburbs to the site of our previous failure, I mentally prepared myself. It wasn’t as hot and muggy, but I wasn’t going to come out lethargic and I wanted to do a better job at picking the team up as best I could. I gave myself a little pep talk and came ready to play. I took a few hits early when my mark got broken, but I came out with some intensity. I did my best not to let my spirits fall. I stayed engaged on the sidelines. I looked to make the most of my points. After the team’s rough start, we began to battle back. I found myself in a nice battle with a very good player on the other team. We were going back and forth. I couldn’t manufacture any D’s, but I was close enough to cause some errant throws. The team as a whole still had trouble cutting and gelling, but at least we had some fight in us this time around. After one turn, we moved the disc up the field and I found myself marked in a three on two situation. I cocked back and threw up a hammer for a score. It was a nice surprise. The bigger surprise for me was when I turned to the sidelines and gestured for them to get fired up. We closed the gap to 1 point, but then couldn’t find our way. I begged off on one zone point. Then with the game on the line, we played zone again. I was short deep and I really think I blew it. I wasn’t following the poppers all the way into the cup and they were moving the disc. When we switched to man, I bit on a fake and watched my guy throw for a score. I guess I had a rough start and a rough finish, but overall I was pleased with the effort.
I’m not as proud of my post-game reaction. I grabbed my hat and flung it into the air as I announced, “Zone is for old people,” in frustration. The real frustration was with my failure, but instead of accepting that I blamed the scheme. I was able to turn the tide on intensity, now I need to shift my thinking on my reactions. I think that was one of my New Year’s Resolutions. Looks like there is still work to be done. Ultimate and I didn't fail each other at all. We just opened up an area for new lessons.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Another 60 seconds, another lollipop
I think I pay more attention to advertising than most people. At one point, I intended to make a career out of it. Now it's more of a hobby. I can't help but think about strategy, or appreciate a good line, or cringe in embarrassment for some client somewhere who thought that was a good idea. Now and again I see an ad or a campaign that makes me want to shake somebody's hand, or at least gets to me. I don't run out and buy things in response, but when it's really good, I can't stop talking about it for a while. It doesn't last, it's pop art, it's as disposable as most of the products, but it's something for a minute or two. As fast as things come these days, that's got to be worth the cable it runs through. Right now, I find two TV commercials worth talking about.
The first may be directed solely at me. This is part of cotton's new campaign. It's got Zooey Deschanel, whose music and look I find charming, singing about cotton while she goes through her day surrounded by music and cotton. She tickles the ivories on a great looking up right, she leafs through some records, she swings her hips while walking a bike, but what really gets me is when she reaches up for a banjo. Look out. I'm changing out of my dri-fit and putting on my cotton. Hi Zooey.
I did a little research and this ad is part of what is now a three-piece series. There's one for a country singer and one for an R&B singer as well. All are shot beautifully, with lots of color, glossy lips, and suggestions of creativity. Each takes the viewer on the journey from "fame" to everyday ordinary life. And look at that, everybody ends up in cotton when they aren't all glammed up. I'll be. Cotton just might be the fabric of our lives.
The second ad worth mentioning reaches me on a different level. Long ago, I'm not sure I understood what about advertising interested me. Now, I know. I wanted to take some words, rearrange them, and when they came out on the other side, they'd have some power, even if they didn't have meaning. Perhaps, I was (I am?) a little lazy, so I figured it would be best if I was limited to 30-second spots, or maybe a billboard. Advertising would have been a great outlet for that, instead I've got a blog. Which leads me to the "most interesting man in the world" campaign for Dos Equis. This campaign packs enough meaningless statements in 30 seconds for six young aspiring copywriters. A couple contenders:
"His beard alone has experienced more than a lesser man's entire body."
"His reputation is expanding faster than the universe."
My favorite and the champion meaningless statement, deserving of the highest honor, "He lives vicariously through himself."
That's enough to make me re-think my career path.
Wait, I have a career path?
I think I pay more attention to advertising than most people. At one point, I intended to make a career out of it. Now it's more of a hobby. I can't help but think about strategy, or appreciate a good line, or cringe in embarrassment for some client somewhere who thought that was a good idea. Now and again I see an ad or a campaign that makes me want to shake somebody's hand, or at least gets to me. I don't run out and buy things in response, but when it's really good, I can't stop talking about it for a while. It doesn't last, it's pop art, it's as disposable as most of the products, but it's something for a minute or two. As fast as things come these days, that's got to be worth the cable it runs through. Right now, I find two TV commercials worth talking about.
The first may be directed solely at me. This is part of cotton's new campaign. It's got Zooey Deschanel, whose music and look I find charming, singing about cotton while she goes through her day surrounded by music and cotton. She tickles the ivories on a great looking up right, she leafs through some records, she swings her hips while walking a bike, but what really gets me is when she reaches up for a banjo. Look out. I'm changing out of my dri-fit and putting on my cotton. Hi Zooey.
I did a little research and this ad is part of what is now a three-piece series. There's one for a country singer and one for an R&B singer as well. All are shot beautifully, with lots of color, glossy lips, and suggestions of creativity. Each takes the viewer on the journey from "fame" to everyday ordinary life. And look at that, everybody ends up in cotton when they aren't all glammed up. I'll be. Cotton just might be the fabric of our lives.
The second ad worth mentioning reaches me on a different level. Long ago, I'm not sure I understood what about advertising interested me. Now, I know. I wanted to take some words, rearrange them, and when they came out on the other side, they'd have some power, even if they didn't have meaning. Perhaps, I was (I am?) a little lazy, so I figured it would be best if I was limited to 30-second spots, or maybe a billboard. Advertising would have been a great outlet for that, instead I've got a blog. Which leads me to the "most interesting man in the world" campaign for Dos Equis. This campaign packs enough meaningless statements in 30 seconds for six young aspiring copywriters. A couple contenders:
"His beard alone has experienced more than a lesser man's entire body."
"His reputation is expanding faster than the universe."
My favorite and the champion meaningless statement, deserving of the highest honor, "He lives vicariously through himself."
That's enough to make me re-think my career path.
Wait, I have a career path?
Monday, May 04, 2009
The sky is crying
The 2nd Annual Alumni game seemed an apt metaphor for the season. We had grand plans and then as time approached to complete the plans things looked to get a little messy. We had to ignore the mess, make the most of it, and play Ultimate. Mostly, this was weather-related messiness and fortunately, the weather turned to light sprinkles which was no problem for the turf beneath our feet. So, we played.
Alan has recapped the game here, which is fortunate, because I was lost. I played with the alums, but couldn't help but cheer on both sides. I never really found my legs, but wasn't that worried because I'd found my friends. Sometimes, I love CUA Ultimate and yesterday was certainly one of those times. Sure there was some on field goodness that made me proud, stuff like Ranjo bugging the heck out of John, while John earned his most improved player status by keeping that disc moving so well. Or seeing Templon throw to Karpo and flashing back three years. It was a little hard to watch Alan pick us apart knowing he is going to be on the alum side next year, but then it was nice to remember that sheer will coupled with physical ability are what make Arin such a force. It was kind of sweet to see Cat prancing around again out of position on the dump and really sweet to see Classics making things happen on both sides of the disc. Nobody could guard Stills and hopefully that trend will continue for other teams. Maybe CUA Ultimate will bring some defense next year if Templon's brother is really on his way to CUA. (Who would have believed that statement would ever be typed?)
It was the off the field stuff that were the true highlights for me. Even with the alum crowd slightly thin, it was a great way and day to celebrate CUA Ultimate. I wish I hadn't screamed at Jimmy, but some things never change, and I did take charge of the situation which I'm proud of. It's been very hard for me to be a vocal leader and I felt like I did that pretty well yesterday with some of the organizing and awards. It felt really good to pull all the grads up to be cheered and it even better to huddle up with everyone at the end and really celebrate with our Popemobile cheer. Thanks everybody. Hopefully our
crowd will grow even larger next year.
The 2nd Annual Alumni game seemed an apt metaphor for the season. We had grand plans and then as time approached to complete the plans things looked to get a little messy. We had to ignore the mess, make the most of it, and play Ultimate. Mostly, this was weather-related messiness and fortunately, the weather turned to light sprinkles which was no problem for the turf beneath our feet. So, we played.
Alan has recapped the game here, which is fortunate, because I was lost. I played with the alums, but couldn't help but cheer on both sides. I never really found my legs, but wasn't that worried because I'd found my friends. Sometimes, I love CUA Ultimate and yesterday was certainly one of those times. Sure there was some on field goodness that made me proud, stuff like Ranjo bugging the heck out of John, while John earned his most improved player status by keeping that disc moving so well. Or seeing Templon throw to Karpo and flashing back three years. It was a little hard to watch Alan pick us apart knowing he is going to be on the alum side next year, but then it was nice to remember that sheer will coupled with physical ability are what make Arin such a force. It was kind of sweet to see Cat prancing around again out of position on the dump and really sweet to see Classics making things happen on both sides of the disc. Nobody could guard Stills and hopefully that trend will continue for other teams. Maybe CUA Ultimate will bring some defense next year if Templon's brother is really on his way to CUA. (Who would have believed that statement would ever be typed?)
It was the off the field stuff that were the true highlights for me. Even with the alum crowd slightly thin, it was a great way and day to celebrate CUA Ultimate. I wish I hadn't screamed at Jimmy, but some things never change, and I did take charge of the situation which I'm proud of. It's been very hard for me to be a vocal leader and I felt like I did that pretty well yesterday with some of the organizing and awards. It felt really good to pull all the grads up to be cheered and it even better to huddle up with everyone at the end and really celebrate with our Popemobile cheer. Thanks everybody. Hopefully our
crowd will grow even larger next year.
Friday, May 01, 2009
Pirate kisses and Glenrothes
The thing I like about this blog is the commingling of the high and low brow. This blog is medium brow when taken as an average, and furrowed brow when taken in aggregate, but at any point a reader might find the high: Drinking single malt at the Round Robin, I couldn't help but notice the man in the grey suit, a throwback to another era with his matching grey fedora. He was a regular. It was my first time.
Or the low: There in the back alley, a pirate pawed his wench as they traded puffs on a cigarette. Their brand of lust was the empty sort found between shifts at the local pirate-themed tavern. I shouted "Pirate love!" in their direction since "Shiver me timbers" sounded profane. They responded with a smile, though a little parrot mouthing off would have gone a long way.
The thing I like about this blog is the commingling of the high and low brow. This blog is medium brow when taken as an average, and furrowed brow when taken in aggregate, but at any point a reader might find the high: Drinking single malt at the Round Robin, I couldn't help but notice the man in the grey suit, a throwback to another era with his matching grey fedora. He was a regular. It was my first time.
Or the low: There in the back alley, a pirate pawed his wench as they traded puffs on a cigarette. Their brand of lust was the empty sort found between shifts at the local pirate-themed tavern. I shouted "Pirate love!" in their direction since "Shiver me timbers" sounded profane. They responded with a smile, though a little parrot mouthing off would have gone a long way.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Meat. It's for eatin'
I went pescetarian for two months. This was not a decision that I made lightly, although it seemed like it. My pescetarian ways started on a bet at a vegetarian joint in Canada. Nope. Not lightly. I know some vegetarians and what they lack in meat-based protein they generally make up in overall coolness. Still, I'm a KC meat guy. They moved cows in my town. I bleed bar-b-que sauce.
Yet, as I ate meat-lover's poutine (it's a Montreal hangover cure that doesn't inherently require meat only fries, gravy, and cheese curds), I found my heart racing and rather than blame the curds I chose to pick on poor defenseless piles of meat. So after some discussion and a delicious meal of non-meat items my pescetarian path unfolded before me. No meat, except the fishes and I don't like fishes.
What had I signed on for? I blamed meat for my poor eating habits and figured if I removed the mammal, I could force myself into a food pyramid. There were some faulty assumptions in there, but I dove into couscous and tofu hard. I finally got around to slicing and cooking up sweet potatoes and kale. I ate fruit- pears, peaches, apples. For two weeks, it was veg-tastic. I shifted my paradigm. I didn't need to have a slab of protein as the centerpiece. I could instead have a series of sides. It was not as unsatisfying as I imagined.
The first real challenge came at a meal with my coworkers. I had steered them away from the seafood joints prior to signing up for this new lifestyle, so they could have registered surprise when I ordered tilapia, but I learned a non-vegetarian lesson that day- even people up in your business aren't always paying attention. Tilapia was the only option I could find that wouldn't make me a bet loser. It was crusted and the fish taste was minor. I survived. Maybe even thrived.
The next big challenge either came at an Ultimate tournament or a rehearsal dinner. Either way, the story was the same- BBQ. I ate cole slaw, beans, and buns and hoped to find an egg salad sandwich later in the evening. This stung a little, but I had a bet and was highly motivated. The Ultimate tournament was manageable, but the rehearsal dinner was pescetarianism under a magnifying glass. It's hard to hide meat-shirking from a family. There was not much hiding here. My cover was blown, but I wasn't backing down.
More weeks went by and I battled on with pasta and some tuna salad sandwiches. I wasn't about to lose. I was cruising along thinking maybe I could make a permanent change when two events struck back to back. First came the steak house. When someone ordered ribs after I'd ordered a sweet potato and a salad, my tear ducts quivered. I held back the waterworks, but just barely. Next came the portobello cheeseburger. It was an ok sandwich on its own, but as a faux-cheeseburger it burned my insides with its inferiority. I longed for beef. Each bite was mushroom covered defeat. It was almost sickening.
I'd learned some things during the challenge. Maybe I could survive without making meat the sun of my dinner solar system. Maybe to eat healthy I needed to focus more on portion size and the particular components of a meal, rather than on trying to assign blame to some poor animal flesh. These were the lessons, but my challenge lacked completion. The bet had gone a bit off the tracks, so I set my sights on the two-month mark. I was going to make it to that point without meat. I dug in, chugged couscous and made it.
To celebrate I ate a pepperoni pizza, a small cheeseburger, and a tofu explosion. I'm kidding about the tofu explosion. There are some things that require bacon. Maybe I'll cling to what I've learned and let someone else eat those things.
I went pescetarian for two months. This was not a decision that I made lightly, although it seemed like it. My pescetarian ways started on a bet at a vegetarian joint in Canada. Nope. Not lightly. I know some vegetarians and what they lack in meat-based protein they generally make up in overall coolness. Still, I'm a KC meat guy. They moved cows in my town. I bleed bar-b-que sauce.
Yet, as I ate meat-lover's poutine (it's a Montreal hangover cure that doesn't inherently require meat only fries, gravy, and cheese curds), I found my heart racing and rather than blame the curds I chose to pick on poor defenseless piles of meat. So after some discussion and a delicious meal of non-meat items my pescetarian path unfolded before me. No meat, except the fishes and I don't like fishes.
What had I signed on for? I blamed meat for my poor eating habits and figured if I removed the mammal, I could force myself into a food pyramid. There were some faulty assumptions in there, but I dove into couscous and tofu hard. I finally got around to slicing and cooking up sweet potatoes and kale. I ate fruit- pears, peaches, apples. For two weeks, it was veg-tastic. I shifted my paradigm. I didn't need to have a slab of protein as the centerpiece. I could instead have a series of sides. It was not as unsatisfying as I imagined.
The first real challenge came at a meal with my coworkers. I had steered them away from the seafood joints prior to signing up for this new lifestyle, so they could have registered surprise when I ordered tilapia, but I learned a non-vegetarian lesson that day- even people up in your business aren't always paying attention. Tilapia was the only option I could find that wouldn't make me a bet loser. It was crusted and the fish taste was minor. I survived. Maybe even thrived.
The next big challenge either came at an Ultimate tournament or a rehearsal dinner. Either way, the story was the same- BBQ. I ate cole slaw, beans, and buns and hoped to find an egg salad sandwich later in the evening. This stung a little, but I had a bet and was highly motivated. The Ultimate tournament was manageable, but the rehearsal dinner was pescetarianism under a magnifying glass. It's hard to hide meat-shirking from a family. There was not much hiding here. My cover was blown, but I wasn't backing down.
More weeks went by and I battled on with pasta and some tuna salad sandwiches. I wasn't about to lose. I was cruising along thinking maybe I could make a permanent change when two events struck back to back. First came the steak house. When someone ordered ribs after I'd ordered a sweet potato and a salad, my tear ducts quivered. I held back the waterworks, but just barely. Next came the portobello cheeseburger. It was an ok sandwich on its own, but as a faux-cheeseburger it burned my insides with its inferiority. I longed for beef. Each bite was mushroom covered defeat. It was almost sickening.
I'd learned some things during the challenge. Maybe I could survive without making meat the sun of my dinner solar system. Maybe to eat healthy I needed to focus more on portion size and the particular components of a meal, rather than on trying to assign blame to some poor animal flesh. These were the lessons, but my challenge lacked completion. The bet had gone a bit off the tracks, so I set my sights on the two-month mark. I was going to make it to that point without meat. I dug in, chugged couscous and made it.
To celebrate I ate a pepperoni pizza, a small cheeseburger, and a tofu explosion. I'm kidding about the tofu explosion. There are some things that require bacon. Maybe I'll cling to what I've learned and let someone else eat those things.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Dear legs, please don't quit on me
Since Tuesday's squeaker second-place finish, I have run a track workout- 2 times 4 by 400m at 69 second pace with 90 seconds rest and 3:30 between sets, run a 4.5 miler, played shoddy laid-back Ultimate, biked 23 miles, run a 5k race, and hiked 4 or so miles.
When I woke up this morning for the local Earth Day 5k, I thought my legs might go on strike. If I hadn't already paid an entry fee, I likely would have bailed. The event was so close to my house that after I picked up my packet, I jogged a warm up home to drop off my new t-shirt and socks. I knew several of the participants from the local running store runs. The atmosphere was relaxed. One of the runners suggested that victory could well be mine, but like most runners I supplied appropriate doubts. It wasn't modesty talking, it was soreness.
The race was an out and back course, with most of the first mile on a long sloping downhill and everyone fully aware that going down meant coming up. I toed the starting line because not many others seemed to want to. Once GO was uttered and the chips were activated, my mind went a little blank. We soared down the hill. I was running in fourth or fifth for a while as we ripped through a mile in 5:21. The leader soon established his dominance and I found myself trailing an older man in a jersey with the words "third place" on the back. After looking at those words for a while and thinking about the potential prize money, I decided that it was my duty to help this gentlemen attain his jersey-given name, so soon after crossing the 2 mile at 11:10, I moved into second place. When we turned back up the long hill, I had the good fortune of being so far out of first that a second pacer on a bike appeared to lead us on the course. This gave me someone to chase up the hill. I chased well for a while and then the pain began to set in. I slowed, kept the visions of cash close at hand, and fought on. I'd opened up a sizable gap on third, but could feel the gap shrinking.
There was a pretty good internal battle going at this point, but I just wanted it to be over. With several glances behind me, I finally made it across the line at 17:55. The little pay day was mine. I was more than a minute out of first and had taken second by just a few seconds. My legs did not fall off. Hopefully, the earth appreciated it.
Tomorrow, I rest.
Since Tuesday's squeaker second-place finish, I have run a track workout- 2 times 4 by 400m at 69 second pace with 90 seconds rest and 3:30 between sets, run a 4.5 miler, played shoddy laid-back Ultimate, biked 23 miles, run a 5k race, and hiked 4 or so miles.
When I woke up this morning for the local Earth Day 5k, I thought my legs might go on strike. If I hadn't already paid an entry fee, I likely would have bailed. The event was so close to my house that after I picked up my packet, I jogged a warm up home to drop off my new t-shirt and socks. I knew several of the participants from the local running store runs. The atmosphere was relaxed. One of the runners suggested that victory could well be mine, but like most runners I supplied appropriate doubts. It wasn't modesty talking, it was soreness.
The race was an out and back course, with most of the first mile on a long sloping downhill and everyone fully aware that going down meant coming up. I toed the starting line because not many others seemed to want to. Once GO was uttered and the chips were activated, my mind went a little blank. We soared down the hill. I was running in fourth or fifth for a while as we ripped through a mile in 5:21. The leader soon established his dominance and I found myself trailing an older man in a jersey with the words "third place" on the back. After looking at those words for a while and thinking about the potential prize money, I decided that it was my duty to help this gentlemen attain his jersey-given name, so soon after crossing the 2 mile at 11:10, I moved into second place. When we turned back up the long hill, I had the good fortune of being so far out of first that a second pacer on a bike appeared to lead us on the course. This gave me someone to chase up the hill. I chased well for a while and then the pain began to set in. I slowed, kept the visions of cash close at hand, and fought on. I'd opened up a sizable gap on third, but could feel the gap shrinking.
There was a pretty good internal battle going at this point, but I just wanted it to be over. With several glances behind me, I finally made it across the line at 17:55. The little pay day was mine. I was more than a minute out of first and had taken second by just a few seconds. My legs did not fall off. Hopefully, the earth appreciated it.
Tomorrow, I rest.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
An April mile
Two nights ago, ignoring the triple threat of rain, traffic, and straying so far outside the DC city lines, my friend M and I journeyed to the untamed suburb of Gaithersburg, Maryland to test our mettle on the Quince Orchard High School track in the mile.
We spent quite a while cruising up and down an avenue, desperately missing those who had organized and directed us in the past or at least a map. With minutes to spare we arrived at the track in time to register and then wait.
The evening was divided into heats with the milers predicting times over 10 minutes going first, 9 to 10 minutes second, 8 to 9 next, and on down. Almost every heat seemed to share several characteristics.
1. Someone (or several people) would start out faster than they intended to and fade painfully.
2. Someone would run 30 seconds or more below the low end of their predicted time.
3. Much to the crowd's delight there would be a furious agonizingly close finish for at least one pair of people.
M and I studied and applauded these heats and planned our strategy. M ran first and with a little coaxing agreed that if she could hold 7:30 pace for a half-marathon; she could run in the 6 to 7 minute mile heat. This was her first timed mile and so she plotted a conservative approach. She started off well at the back of the pack as planned. Her heat was HUGE and she shared the track with about 30 people. Entering the second lap, I thought she made a big move, but was told later that 10 high school kids were regretting their fast start allowing her to smartly move up to around the middle of the heat. She crossed the half mile in 3:21 and continued to look comfortable and on pace. The crowd was forcing her to lane 2 on the turns, but she cruised on. M stayed steady throughout, passing a few more people on lap 3 and keeping pace on lap 4. She picked off one more entering the final turn and headed home with a 6:38 mile. She had a new personal record! She looked strong and I suspect there may be some untapped speed in there, but we'll wait to find that out next time.
The evening wore on, the crowd thinned, and 7 runners toed the line as a light rain began to fall on what had become the under 5:30 mile heat. My goal was to run under 5 minutes. When the gun went off, 4 runners jumped out front and I tucked in a few yards behind. The man in front was soon out of reach, second place had 15 yards and the runner in third, fourth, and
and I all crossed the first lap in 75 seconds, right about on pace. I thought I was pouring it on in laps 2 and 3, especially since I passed and put some distance between the now fourth and fifth place runners, but instead I clocked times of about 77 and 75, just off the desired pace. With the final lap, I set my sights on second place. I'd shed my glasses since it was raining, but I could still see that I was gaining on the runner in white. He was a blur, but I didn't need to see his features to know that he was a ways in front. I thought his lead was too great, but I went after him anyway. I gained a few yards on the backstretch and gained a few more on the homestretch, but the distance wasn't closing fast enough. As we made our way over the last 80 yards, I kept staring at his back waiting for him to pour it on as I gave chase. I believe that if he'd had just a hard step or two, I would have been broken and stuck in third. Instead, somehow with 10 yards left, I pulled even with him and then slid past. The runner reacted with a late kick, but the finish line arrived just in time. Second place and a 4:57 mile were mine.
Two nights ago, ignoring the triple threat of rain, traffic, and straying so far outside the DC city lines, my friend M and I journeyed to the untamed suburb of Gaithersburg, Maryland to test our mettle on the Quince Orchard High School track in the mile.
We spent quite a while cruising up and down an avenue, desperately missing those who had organized and directed us in the past or at least a map. With minutes to spare we arrived at the track in time to register and then wait.
The evening was divided into heats with the milers predicting times over 10 minutes going first, 9 to 10 minutes second, 8 to 9 next, and on down. Almost every heat seemed to share several characteristics.
1. Someone (or several people) would start out faster than they intended to and fade painfully.
2. Someone would run 30 seconds or more below the low end of their predicted time.
3. Much to the crowd's delight there would be a furious agonizingly close finish for at least one pair of people.
M and I studied and applauded these heats and planned our strategy. M ran first and with a little coaxing agreed that if she could hold 7:30 pace for a half-marathon; she could run in the 6 to 7 minute mile heat. This was her first timed mile and so she plotted a conservative approach. She started off well at the back of the pack as planned. Her heat was HUGE and she shared the track with about 30 people. Entering the second lap, I thought she made a big move, but was told later that 10 high school kids were regretting their fast start allowing her to smartly move up to around the middle of the heat. She crossed the half mile in 3:21 and continued to look comfortable and on pace. The crowd was forcing her to lane 2 on the turns, but she cruised on. M stayed steady throughout, passing a few more people on lap 3 and keeping pace on lap 4. She picked off one more entering the final turn and headed home with a 6:38 mile. She had a new personal record! She looked strong and I suspect there may be some untapped speed in there, but we'll wait to find that out next time.
The evening wore on, the crowd thinned, and 7 runners toed the line as a light rain began to fall on what had become the under 5:30 mile heat. My goal was to run under 5 minutes. When the gun went off, 4 runners jumped out front and I tucked in a few yards behind. The man in front was soon out of reach, second place had 15 yards and the runner in third, fourth, and
and I all crossed the first lap in 75 seconds, right about on pace. I thought I was pouring it on in laps 2 and 3, especially since I passed and put some distance between the now fourth and fifth place runners, but instead I clocked times of about 77 and 75, just off the desired pace. With the final lap, I set my sights on second place. I'd shed my glasses since it was raining, but I could still see that I was gaining on the runner in white. He was a blur, but I didn't need to see his features to know that he was a ways in front. I thought his lead was too great, but I went after him anyway. I gained a few yards on the backstretch and gained a few more on the homestretch, but the distance wasn't closing fast enough. As we made our way over the last 80 yards, I kept staring at his back waiting for him to pour it on as I gave chase. I believe that if he'd had just a hard step or two, I would have been broken and stuck in third. Instead, somehow with 10 yards left, I pulled even with him and then slid past. The runner reacted with a late kick, but the finish line arrived just in time. Second place and a 4:57 mile were mine.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
I've got a theory
Groups with enthusiasm are an awesome force. Saturday night I was part of a sing-a-long birthday party. We had parts and dressed up and we performed. Some more than others. The stage was set on a cardboard and construction paper Sunnydale, California. If we'd ripped up the carpet we probably would have found a cardboard Hellmouth, but we were contented with magic shop contents and eating at The Bronze between the store fronts of main street. The Buffy The Vampire Slayer TV show episode "Once More with Feeling" was our assignment and celebrating Kim was our motivation.
I practiced many hours to learn the part of Xander as best I could. I still clung to the security of my script during my songs. Others either practiced more or have more natural talents. It was an impressive display of modest singing ability. The most impressive part was the enthusiasm everyone shared. We were into it and thrilled by each performance. People knew or made up choreography. Everyone smiled and laughed and sang like he or she was in the episode. We could have been the understudies. I'm a little biased, but it was that good. And if it wasn't, at least it was that much fun.
Somehow, it felt like more than fun . It was more like teamwork. It felt like it meant more than just a sing-a-long. I've heard most of my friends sing karaoke in that same basement, but this was bigger. I saw the talents of my friends in a renewed light. It felt important that we had trusted each other enough to show that we cared about something, even a basement performance. The event didn't transform my view of my friends, but it reminded me a little of what it was like to first meet them and be amazed. That's a special gift and quite a party.
Groups with enthusiasm are an awesome force. Saturday night I was part of a sing-a-long birthday party. We had parts and dressed up and we performed. Some more than others. The stage was set on a cardboard and construction paper Sunnydale, California. If we'd ripped up the carpet we probably would have found a cardboard Hellmouth, but we were contented with magic shop contents and eating at The Bronze between the store fronts of main street. The Buffy The Vampire Slayer TV show episode "Once More with Feeling" was our assignment and celebrating Kim was our motivation.
I practiced many hours to learn the part of Xander as best I could. I still clung to the security of my script during my songs. Others either practiced more or have more natural talents. It was an impressive display of modest singing ability. The most impressive part was the enthusiasm everyone shared. We were into it and thrilled by each performance. People knew or made up choreography. Everyone smiled and laughed and sang like he or she was in the episode. We could have been the understudies. I'm a little biased, but it was that good. And if it wasn't, at least it was that much fun.
Somehow, it felt like more than fun . It was more like teamwork. It felt like it meant more than just a sing-a-long. I've heard most of my friends sing karaoke in that same basement, but this was bigger. I saw the talents of my friends in a renewed light. It felt important that we had trusted each other enough to show that we cared about something, even a basement performance. The event didn't transform my view of my friends, but it reminded me a little of what it was like to first meet them and be amazed. That's a special gift and quite a party.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Making up for lost time
March Madness
The Missouri Tigers run to the elite 8 did wonders for my bracket, for a moment making me a believer as I captured all 8 of the elite correctly. Then UConn and Michigan State destroyed my hopes and sent me to 14th place. I watched too much basketball and enjoyed some nice mad moments. I rushed out of work and headed to a sports bar to watch Maryland win their first round game. It was a bit like being in church. I felt fellowship with the Terps fans as the emotions rose and fell while I took sips of my beer. Maybe not exactly like church. Those two little guards from American giving a scare to Villanova was a treat. My favorite game was a women's game.
It was Maryland vs. Vanderbilt. I was flipping channels and I caught the start and couldn't stop watching. Maryland was heavily favored, but Vanderbilt came out scrapping from the jump. They were led by a senior and she was having a day. She was 5 to 7 inches shorter than the women she was guarding, but she was swatting balls away, making steals, getting rebounds, and finding ways to score. Her scrappy attitude put Vandy out in front of Maryland, way in front. With her on the court, Vanderbilt was unstoppable, but she got some fouls and needed some rest and Maryland managed to stay within striking distance. Vandy kept fighting all game long, but one Maryland player, Marissa Coleman (who recently became a Washington Mystic in the WNBA) refused to lose. She put Maryland on her back and scored 42 points. It was a great battle. I didn't need a bracket to enjoy fiery competition.
Sectionals Madness as told with help of a halfbeard
"I'm dressed for you today. I'm wearing these cargo pants, so you can put all of your baggage in my pockets. I'm wearing this tie-dye shirt so you can play with calm and chill. I'm wearing this hat so you remember that divided we fail, but united we stand. Teamwork. And I have this ridiculous beard because I Want You TO PLAY RIDICULOUS!"
After seven months of growing an increasingly charming(?) beard, I finally shaved half of it in part as an effort to inspire my team to overcome the odds and go on to Sectional glory. I agreed that I'd go to work looking ridiculous if we met our early season goals. The plan had been laid out, though not followed, and the section was ripe for a shake up.
I was doing my coaching best, which leaves something to be desired, but has progressed since September. The team was seeded seventh overall and second in our pool. It was going to take an incredible amount of gelling and a bit of good luck to get where we wanted to be, but I've taken to searching for wells of optimism. The sun was shining, but the wind was blowing. Discs and wind are a bit like coffee and Irish creme. The right amount can be wonderful, but mess up the ratio and trouble awaits. The first game was against Johns Hopkins. The game was like the halfbeard, sometimes hairy, sometimes nearly smooth, never exactly pretty. At universe point, we blew it and our lofty goals took their first hit. My well of optimism sank, but JA said it well as we would time and again over the weekend, "We didn't come here to go undefeated. We came to go to Regionals."
So the team rallied a bit and polished off the 4 seed Maryland B in marginally convincing fashion. The biggest problem in that game other than the spate of dropped passes was our ailing star Lemon who took another hit trying to help the team and his limited playing time was reduced further. After a bye, Bad Habit took on Delaware B and with a little help from their disinterest steamrolled to a 13-1 victory, narrowly missing a shutout. Life was further improved when Maryland B upset Johns Hopkins at universe point, making way for Habit to at least make it into the 3rd place bracket comfortably. Still, the 1 seed, GW awaited. For the first few points, Habit held serve and looked strong doing it. Stills was playing his heart out, but slowly the facade began to show cracks. GW put on a zone and then reeled off 4 in a row and never looked back. Stills came up with one of the individual highlights for the team with a huge layout D on a swing pass, but Habit couldn't find a groove and GW ran away. With a 2-2 record, Habit would have to come out strong on Sunday and reel off 4 wins. It was a tall order, made taller by a lack of depth. The team was carrying more members than usual, but practice together had been limited and it was difficult for me to tell who could be counted on in the clutch. This was made even more difficult by my general fondness for the group I was with. I had to balance optimism and realism as we entered the game on Sunday against Salisbury.
We came out with very little punch on Sunday and things did not go our way. Salisbury dispatched of us and our poor throws rather quickly and our Regional aspirations were gone before I knew what hit us. A series of mistakes and missed opportunities along with an inability to capitalize continued to haunt us. We went on to play in the seventh place bracket.
I set a poor tone for the game against GMU. My line calling was as lax as my attitude and I was far from alone. Down way too many, the team finally dug in and pulled out a miracle by coming back from down 12-7 or 8 and winning at universe point 14-13. It wasn't pretty, but they did the job. That victory meant a match-up with the host St. Mary's and a chance to prove that we had deserved to be seeded 7th to their 8th. Feeding off the GMU game, Habit sliced up everything St. Mary's put out. SM scored 4 or 5 and showed that her recent dominance is only in its beginning stages. For subs, I was rotating the top 7 to 9 through about 5 or 6 spots and trying to get the other players in as much as possible in the other 2 spots. It seemed to be working all right. The top group was playing well, and KG and Classics made a push to really fill out some of the gaps, while SM, Tini, and Frodo all had solid performances in their limited points. The team was starting to be a team.
Bye-bye St. Mary's, hello rematch with Salisbury. The Salisbury Buzz weren't really interested in playing for seventh, but after a weekend of hemming and hawing, we had finally found some kind of groove. I kept with the same substitution game plan for the next game, and got huge points from KG and Classics again. The starters were playing great and this became a battle of attrition. KG wasn't interested in much attrition and came up with about a zillion D's using his little spring-loaded legs, and then grabbed several scores to boot. JA found a way to get deep and AJ started finding a way to get his big throws to him. Salisbury found themselves in a mighty battle. JG continued his solid play finding big gaps for cross-field throws and just making the offense run through him. The score went back and forth. We'd go on a run and then the Buzz would answer. At Lemon's urging I used our timeouts to stop runs and it seemed to work pretty well. JM hit on a backhand for a score and the tide seemed to be turning, but the Buzz kept finding answers. The battle was reaching epic status when Banjo made a huge grab for a score on an out cut, took the body blow and held on to the disc. Frodo tried to fight his way to victory. At 13-13, we were receiving for universe point. We had at least 2 chances, one 5 yards from the goal line and one on a deep cut with two receivers, but couldn't finish it off. We ended up 8th.
It was nowhere near where we wanted to be, but there were many things to be proud of and as a team we got what we worked for. Hopefully, we'll learn from it. At the end of the last game, an effusive fellow stopped by and in an apparent sober but heartfelt moment detailed his personal history and love for the game. It was awkward and slightly uncomfortable, but the message that I heard was spot on. That message: "Whatever you're playing for, there is a honor in competing and giving it your all. Be proud that you took part and enjoy the moments."
Right on, guy. Don't cry.
March Madness
The Missouri Tigers run to the elite 8 did wonders for my bracket, for a moment making me a believer as I captured all 8 of the elite correctly. Then UConn and Michigan State destroyed my hopes and sent me to 14th place. I watched too much basketball and enjoyed some nice mad moments. I rushed out of work and headed to a sports bar to watch Maryland win their first round game. It was a bit like being in church. I felt fellowship with the Terps fans as the emotions rose and fell while I took sips of my beer. Maybe not exactly like church. Those two little guards from American giving a scare to Villanova was a treat. My favorite game was a women's game.
It was Maryland vs. Vanderbilt. I was flipping channels and I caught the start and couldn't stop watching. Maryland was heavily favored, but Vanderbilt came out scrapping from the jump. They were led by a senior and she was having a day. She was 5 to 7 inches shorter than the women she was guarding, but she was swatting balls away, making steals, getting rebounds, and finding ways to score. Her scrappy attitude put Vandy out in front of Maryland, way in front. With her on the court, Vanderbilt was unstoppable, but she got some fouls and needed some rest and Maryland managed to stay within striking distance. Vandy kept fighting all game long, but one Maryland player, Marissa Coleman (who recently became a Washington Mystic in the WNBA) refused to lose. She put Maryland on her back and scored 42 points. It was a great battle. I didn't need a bracket to enjoy fiery competition.
Sectionals Madness as told with help of a halfbeard
"I'm dressed for you today. I'm wearing these cargo pants, so you can put all of your baggage in my pockets. I'm wearing this tie-dye shirt so you can play with calm and chill. I'm wearing this hat so you remember that divided we fail, but united we stand. Teamwork. And I have this ridiculous beard because I Want You TO PLAY RIDICULOUS!"
After seven months of growing an increasingly charming(?) beard, I finally shaved half of it in part as an effort to inspire my team to overcome the odds and go on to Sectional glory. I agreed that I'd go to work looking ridiculous if we met our early season goals. The plan had been laid out, though not followed, and the section was ripe for a shake up.
I was doing my coaching best, which leaves something to be desired, but has progressed since September. The team was seeded seventh overall and second in our pool. It was going to take an incredible amount of gelling and a bit of good luck to get where we wanted to be, but I've taken to searching for wells of optimism. The sun was shining, but the wind was blowing. Discs and wind are a bit like coffee and Irish creme. The right amount can be wonderful, but mess up the ratio and trouble awaits. The first game was against Johns Hopkins. The game was like the halfbeard, sometimes hairy, sometimes nearly smooth, never exactly pretty. At universe point, we blew it and our lofty goals took their first hit. My well of optimism sank, but JA said it well as we would time and again over the weekend, "We didn't come here to go undefeated. We came to go to Regionals."
So the team rallied a bit and polished off the 4 seed Maryland B in marginally convincing fashion. The biggest problem in that game other than the spate of dropped passes was our ailing star Lemon who took another hit trying to help the team and his limited playing time was reduced further. After a bye, Bad Habit took on Delaware B and with a little help from their disinterest steamrolled to a 13-1 victory, narrowly missing a shutout. Life was further improved when Maryland B upset Johns Hopkins at universe point, making way for Habit to at least make it into the 3rd place bracket comfortably. Still, the 1 seed, GW awaited. For the first few points, Habit held serve and looked strong doing it. Stills was playing his heart out, but slowly the facade began to show cracks. GW put on a zone and then reeled off 4 in a row and never looked back. Stills came up with one of the individual highlights for the team with a huge layout D on a swing pass, but Habit couldn't find a groove and GW ran away. With a 2-2 record, Habit would have to come out strong on Sunday and reel off 4 wins. It was a tall order, made taller by a lack of depth. The team was carrying more members than usual, but practice together had been limited and it was difficult for me to tell who could be counted on in the clutch. This was made even more difficult by my general fondness for the group I was with. I had to balance optimism and realism as we entered the game on Sunday against Salisbury.
We came out with very little punch on Sunday and things did not go our way. Salisbury dispatched of us and our poor throws rather quickly and our Regional aspirations were gone before I knew what hit us. A series of mistakes and missed opportunities along with an inability to capitalize continued to haunt us. We went on to play in the seventh place bracket.
I set a poor tone for the game against GMU. My line calling was as lax as my attitude and I was far from alone. Down way too many, the team finally dug in and pulled out a miracle by coming back from down 12-7 or 8 and winning at universe point 14-13. It wasn't pretty, but they did the job. That victory meant a match-up with the host St. Mary's and a chance to prove that we had deserved to be seeded 7th to their 8th. Feeding off the GMU game, Habit sliced up everything St. Mary's put out. SM scored 4 or 5 and showed that her recent dominance is only in its beginning stages. For subs, I was rotating the top 7 to 9 through about 5 or 6 spots and trying to get the other players in as much as possible in the other 2 spots. It seemed to be working all right. The top group was playing well, and KG and Classics made a push to really fill out some of the gaps, while SM, Tini, and Frodo all had solid performances in their limited points. The team was starting to be a team.
Bye-bye St. Mary's, hello rematch with Salisbury. The Salisbury Buzz weren't really interested in playing for seventh, but after a weekend of hemming and hawing, we had finally found some kind of groove. I kept with the same substitution game plan for the next game, and got huge points from KG and Classics again. The starters were playing great and this became a battle of attrition. KG wasn't interested in much attrition and came up with about a zillion D's using his little spring-loaded legs, and then grabbed several scores to boot. JA found a way to get deep and AJ started finding a way to get his big throws to him. Salisbury found themselves in a mighty battle. JG continued his solid play finding big gaps for cross-field throws and just making the offense run through him. The score went back and forth. We'd go on a run and then the Buzz would answer. At Lemon's urging I used our timeouts to stop runs and it seemed to work pretty well. JM hit on a backhand for a score and the tide seemed to be turning, but the Buzz kept finding answers. The battle was reaching epic status when Banjo made a huge grab for a score on an out cut, took the body blow and held on to the disc. Frodo tried to fight his way to victory. At 13-13, we were receiving for universe point. We had at least 2 chances, one 5 yards from the goal line and one on a deep cut with two receivers, but couldn't finish it off. We ended up 8th.
It was nowhere near where we wanted to be, but there were many things to be proud of and as a team we got what we worked for. Hopefully, we'll learn from it. At the end of the last game, an effusive fellow stopped by and in an apparent sober but heartfelt moment detailed his personal history and love for the game. It was awkward and slightly uncomfortable, but the message that I heard was spot on. That message: "Whatever you're playing for, there is a honor in competing and giving it your all. Be proud that you took part and enjoy the moments."
Right on, guy. Don't cry.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
East Capitol and the Washington Monument
I spent my day wandering DC like a lost tourist. It was a good way to spend an unpaid Friday. For years, I have meant to make a return to the monument with the multi-colored bricks. My intentions were waylaid, not by lack of funds or civil war like the builders, but by the desire to avoid a line and the proximity factor. I'm developing a theory that the closer one lives to a popular destination the harder it is to attend. "There's always tomorrow," becomes a mantra as strong as any voodoo curse or force field.
In Isaiah's Feather style, I finally made tomorrow today. I joined the ticket line later than I would have liked and was rewarded with a ticket three hours from that moment. I went on a long walk in search of an eyebrow window, the future, and some digital pictures. I found two of the three, snapping shots of row houses and Volkswagens along East Capitol street as the minutes ticked by. I discovered a musty book store, a diner with an American name run by Vietnamese women, but not an eyebrow window.
With the future just 30 minutes away, I dodged school groups and eager teens snapping photos to take a quick look at the Lincoln exhibit at the Smithsonian. The top hat was in disrepair, the replica bed clothes were not picture-worthy, sorry teen girls, and I was rushing, but I still had time to stop and take in a series of Lincoln portraits. The first thing I noticed was Lincoln's strong jaw line. He was better looking than legend tells. His beard wasn't as ubiquitous either. The series conveyed the toll that presidency and a civil war had taken on the man. I considered it for a moment with a stroke of my own beard before heading off to the Washington Monument stairs.
The stairs of the monument closed years ago, now the only way up is by park service escorted elevator. The elevator is the size of my bedroom and metallic. It seems completely out of place as does most of the interior of this 555-foot structure. Masons on the outside, St. Louis Arch-builders on the inside. The incongruity is off-putting, but the real disappointment was in he realization that 555 feet isn't that high up. Sure this was the tallest structure going in the mid to late 1800s, but an airplane flying in to Reagan provides a better view and it includes the Washington Monument. Fly in to town and get the same view with less security. Check it off the list.
I spent my day wandering DC like a lost tourist. It was a good way to spend an unpaid Friday. For years, I have meant to make a return to the monument with the multi-colored bricks. My intentions were waylaid, not by lack of funds or civil war like the builders, but by the desire to avoid a line and the proximity factor. I'm developing a theory that the closer one lives to a popular destination the harder it is to attend. "There's always tomorrow," becomes a mantra as strong as any voodoo curse or force field.
In Isaiah's Feather style, I finally made tomorrow today. I joined the ticket line later than I would have liked and was rewarded with a ticket three hours from that moment. I went on a long walk in search of an eyebrow window, the future, and some digital pictures. I found two of the three, snapping shots of row houses and Volkswagens along East Capitol street as the minutes ticked by. I discovered a musty book store, a diner with an American name run by Vietnamese women, but not an eyebrow window.
With the future just 30 minutes away, I dodged school groups and eager teens snapping photos to take a quick look at the Lincoln exhibit at the Smithsonian. The top hat was in disrepair, the replica bed clothes were not picture-worthy, sorry teen girls, and I was rushing, but I still had time to stop and take in a series of Lincoln portraits. The first thing I noticed was Lincoln's strong jaw line. He was better looking than legend tells. His beard wasn't as ubiquitous either. The series conveyed the toll that presidency and a civil war had taken on the man. I considered it for a moment with a stroke of my own beard before heading off to the Washington Monument stairs.
The stairs of the monument closed years ago, now the only way up is by park service escorted elevator. The elevator is the size of my bedroom and metallic. It seems completely out of place as does most of the interior of this 555-foot structure. Masons on the outside, St. Louis Arch-builders on the inside. The incongruity is off-putting, but the real disappointment was in he realization that 555 feet isn't that high up. Sure this was the tallest structure going in the mid to late 1800s, but an airplane flying in to Reagan provides a better view and it includes the Washington Monument. Fly in to town and get the same view with less security. Check it off the list.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Beard News
The pros:
I’m now finding beard hairs up to 3.5 inches long. I measured. I can fold
my beard up into my face and touch my nose. I adore my shadow; my head
looks so elongated, like there’s a little Lincoln hidden in there. I
haven’t noticed anyone staring at me on the street, but I do get
noticed. Ultimate players really dig the beard. This is just another
reason that I like Ultimate players.
The cons:
I can’t eat anything without getting it in my beard. Couscous is my
favorite food to pick out because it is very satisfying to pull little
food pellets out. Syrup, ice cream, and anything similar are not so fun.
I can’t fight the syrup at all. It’s an instant mess. It makes me feel
three years old. People are constantly telling me that I have food in
my beard at mealtime. I always have a napkin ready to go, but sometimes
even a quick draw with the quicker-picker-upper isn’t quick enough.
The jokes:
I went to a meeting the other day with a coworker that I haven’t seen in
months. After she realized who I was, she said, “Has it been that long?”
Another coworker answered for me, “He’s been stranded on a deserted
island- Castaway style.”
The spreading world-wide acceptance of facial hair:
This clip from the Buenos Aires Film Festival is awesome. Thanks, Alan.
The pros:
I’m now finding beard hairs up to 3.5 inches long. I measured. I can fold
my beard up into my face and touch my nose. I adore my shadow; my head
looks so elongated, like there’s a little Lincoln hidden in there. I
haven’t noticed anyone staring at me on the street, but I do get
noticed. Ultimate players really dig the beard. This is just another
reason that I like Ultimate players.
The cons:
I can’t eat anything without getting it in my beard. Couscous is my
favorite food to pick out because it is very satisfying to pull little
food pellets out. Syrup, ice cream, and anything similar are not so fun.
I can’t fight the syrup at all. It’s an instant mess. It makes me feel
three years old. People are constantly telling me that I have food in
my beard at mealtime. I always have a napkin ready to go, but sometimes
even a quick draw with the quicker-picker-upper isn’t quick enough.
The jokes:
I went to a meeting the other day with a coworker that I haven’t seen in
months. After she realized who I was, she said, “Has it been that long?”
Another coworker answered for me, “He’s been stranded on a deserted
island- Castaway style.”
The spreading world-wide acceptance of facial hair:
This clip from the Buenos Aires Film Festival is awesome. Thanks, Alan.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Wedding receptions are fun
I thought it was just the dancing that made me enjoy wedding receptions so much, but after this weekend I'd like to revise my theory. I like wedding dancing because it takes place in this bubble of love, conversation, and reminiscing. English teachers and grandmothers and nieces, nephews, and best friends all get together and celebrate with some food or drink. This combination of people with past seems to put the crowd in a pretty good mood. I want to figure out how to throw dance parties with that same vibe. Inviting English teachers and digging out some old photo albums might be good first steps.
One part of the experience that I will leave out of my dance party is the garter toss. When it came time at this wedding, I must have been the last single guy still around. The groom held the garter up in the air and looked around. Reluctantly, I raised my hand and he tossed it in my general direction. There wasn't much I could do. This couple had eschewed many of the traditional reception festivities and yet the bouquet and garter still came out. And so, I snagged another this weekend. I think that puts me up to three. I apologize to anyone whom I'm holding back. I can toss the garter in your direction if you are worried about the order of these things. I don't want to slow anyone down, especially not if I get invited to the reception for dancing.
I thought it was just the dancing that made me enjoy wedding receptions so much, but after this weekend I'd like to revise my theory. I like wedding dancing because it takes place in this bubble of love, conversation, and reminiscing. English teachers and grandmothers and nieces, nephews, and best friends all get together and celebrate with some food or drink. This combination of people with past seems to put the crowd in a pretty good mood. I want to figure out how to throw dance parties with that same vibe. Inviting English teachers and digging out some old photo albums might be good first steps.
One part of the experience that I will leave out of my dance party is the garter toss. When it came time at this wedding, I must have been the last single guy still around. The groom held the garter up in the air and looked around. Reluctantly, I raised my hand and he tossed it in my general direction. There wasn't much I could do. This couple had eschewed many of the traditional reception festivities and yet the bouquet and garter still came out. And so, I snagged another this weekend. I think that puts me up to three. I apologize to anyone whom I'm holding back. I can toss the garter in your direction if you are worried about the order of these things. I don't want to slow anyone down, especially not if I get invited to the reception for dancing.
Sunday, March 08, 2009
Stop thinking
I miss my hour. I have a headache. My ankle hurts so much that it's overshadowing the rest of my pains. Today was a good day. I didn't mean to play Ultimate. I wore the going-out-spectacles. I didn't pack my cleats or my ankle brace or a red jersey. Yes, I wore shorts and a white jersey, but those other items are pretty essential, I thought.
P had some extra cleats. B taped my ankle. I raided my running shoes and made some in-soles. We went white. I tried to keep my glasses on my face. Somewhere deep inside I wanted to play, of course. I wouldn't have done it if today had been a strictly college tournament, but the snow melt had turned Huck into Muck and so 8 teams met to play and one of those 8 was a local club team. All bets were off and CUA only had 7 active players. I made 8. That's kind of how this whole thing began 6 years ago.
First, we faced SUNY-Buffalo. We were playing well out of the HO stack, the hucks were working thanks to some pretty big throws from AJ and we found a groove. J was scoring all over the place. Turnovers were fairly scarce and despite our lack of subs, we started to pull away and we never looked back taking the game 13-5. Personally, I was struggling on my ankle, feeling slow, and feeling the lack of subs, but I did get one big guy to bite on a couple of fakes so that I could pull in a deep one. My mind is pretty fuzzy on a lot of other details, but everybody was working well together and having a good time. We won 13-5.
Next, we faced the local club team WireTap. Even with numbers, we would have been overmatched. JA gave a great speech about getting points and we set a goal to get 5-10 on this team. Talk about a blur, the details really get fuzzy for me in this game. I think they scored first and then we scored. Everybody continued to work well together. AJ kept hucking. JA was working well in the middle. B and P were doing good handler work, J was slicing through the zone and everybody was running as much as they could. K got a cleat stepping on his hand which put us down to no subs, but we kept fighting. Turnovers for our team were few and far between. I seemed to be about the biggest mess on the field. AJ threw a huge hammer/blade that just missed the outstretched fingers of my defender and then came screaming down into my chest. I couldn't hold on. JA kept throwing one more fake than I thought he was going to and I ended up throwing it away. Then in a series that baffles me almost as much as my sticky fingers, I couldn't get P to make a move on the dump, so I turned to B. He got open and I lofted the disc away from him and into his defender. To top that off, I laid out into the feet of the guy who scored on the next throw. Not sweet. Still, despite some miscues on my part, we had the early lead. We were up about 6-3 before squeaking to half at 7-6. We kept fighting, a few points seemed to last forever. WireTap did a poor job of running us to death (age no doubt played a factor) and instead decided to play into our hands for the most part. Unfortunately, our hands couldn't quite grasp victory and we lost 10-11. I know that this was the beginning of their season and that they took us lightly, but this mattered to us.
We were supposed to play 3 more games, but cramps, hands, ankles, and more left us too spent to continue. The lessons to learn: we can get in there and battle with good teams. We can do the little things right, stay close on D, turn it over less, and we can mix it up with some good teams. That's a good lesson if we can cling to it.
What a pleasure to take the field with those guys, several who I've been around for 4 years now. Yeah, Habit, yeah.
I miss my hour. I have a headache. My ankle hurts so much that it's overshadowing the rest of my pains. Today was a good day. I didn't mean to play Ultimate. I wore the going-out-spectacles. I didn't pack my cleats or my ankle brace or a red jersey. Yes, I wore shorts and a white jersey, but those other items are pretty essential, I thought.
P had some extra cleats. B taped my ankle. I raided my running shoes and made some in-soles. We went white. I tried to keep my glasses on my face. Somewhere deep inside I wanted to play, of course. I wouldn't have done it if today had been a strictly college tournament, but the snow melt had turned Huck into Muck and so 8 teams met to play and one of those 8 was a local club team. All bets were off and CUA only had 7 active players. I made 8. That's kind of how this whole thing began 6 years ago.
First, we faced SUNY-Buffalo. We were playing well out of the HO stack, the hucks were working thanks to some pretty big throws from AJ and we found a groove. J was scoring all over the place. Turnovers were fairly scarce and despite our lack of subs, we started to pull away and we never looked back taking the game 13-5. Personally, I was struggling on my ankle, feeling slow, and feeling the lack of subs, but I did get one big guy to bite on a couple of fakes so that I could pull in a deep one. My mind is pretty fuzzy on a lot of other details, but everybody was working well together and having a good time. We won 13-5.
Next, we faced the local club team WireTap. Even with numbers, we would have been overmatched. JA gave a great speech about getting points and we set a goal to get 5-10 on this team. Talk about a blur, the details really get fuzzy for me in this game. I think they scored first and then we scored. Everybody continued to work well together. AJ kept hucking. JA was working well in the middle. B and P were doing good handler work, J was slicing through the zone and everybody was running as much as they could. K got a cleat stepping on his hand which put us down to no subs, but we kept fighting. Turnovers for our team were few and far between. I seemed to be about the biggest mess on the field. AJ threw a huge hammer/blade that just missed the outstretched fingers of my defender and then came screaming down into my chest. I couldn't hold on. JA kept throwing one more fake than I thought he was going to and I ended up throwing it away. Then in a series that baffles me almost as much as my sticky fingers, I couldn't get P to make a move on the dump, so I turned to B. He got open and I lofted the disc away from him and into his defender. To top that off, I laid out into the feet of the guy who scored on the next throw. Not sweet. Still, despite some miscues on my part, we had the early lead. We were up about 6-3 before squeaking to half at 7-6. We kept fighting, a few points seemed to last forever. WireTap did a poor job of running us to death (age no doubt played a factor) and instead decided to play into our hands for the most part. Unfortunately, our hands couldn't quite grasp victory and we lost 10-11. I know that this was the beginning of their season and that they took us lightly, but this mattered to us.
We were supposed to play 3 more games, but cramps, hands, ankles, and more left us too spent to continue. The lessons to learn: we can get in there and battle with good teams. We can do the little things right, stay close on D, turn it over less, and we can mix it up with some good teams. That's a good lesson if we can cling to it.
What a pleasure to take the field with those guys, several who I've been around for 4 years now. Yeah, Habit, yeah.
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Thinking about Ultimate
I'm having a quiet day full of thoughts and many are swirling about the game of Ultimate and my involvement in it. Some of that is brought on by a sore ankle and some of that is ripped right from the start of the day. As my alarm was beeping at me, I was screaming at my team to go for the disc. My dream screams were pleas to have the urgency and aggression to fight for a floating disc. If the disc hasn't hit the ground yet, there's still a chance. It's not a ball, it's hanging in the air, ripe for the taking. There are many things I don't know how to teach, today it's felt like most things, but one I've struggled with on both a small scale and on a large scale is that sense of urgency.
The goal, the test, Sectionals is less than a month away for the team. Our practice attendance has remained low and now we're having trouble drawing adequate numbers for tournaments. These are obviously big problems that need to be addressed, but I'm realizing that they are next year's problems. This is the hand we've got, regardless of the hand we wanted. There aren't enough weeks left to implement big changes or find other players, we have to work within this framework. We'll hope that our injured come back quickly, but we need to face the facts.
I've spent my day trying to figure out what the facts are. I think they are first that we need to admit that we could have been better and then put that behind us. Not enough people on the team did the work to really raise the level of play and we've had some bad luck, but what can we do now? I believe we can still do plenty. I believe this team is better than last year's team. There are more people I trust to have the discs in their hands. There are more players when they show up. Attendance is not a new problem. The only thing this team lacks compared to last year is that monstrous defensive closer; a painful thing to miss for sure, but if we'd play to our strengths it wouldn't be so detrimental. Again, I'm asking what can we do? We have to come together as a team and support one another instead of tearing people down. We've got to be engaged in the game- knowing the force, being ready to catch discs, being aware. Maybe I should be able to teach these things, but I don't know how so I just have to ask everyone to wake up and be ready, even when they are tired. Maybe morning practices taught some of that.
I also have some question of what to do during the next three weeks. On that front, I think I'd like to focus on one skill per practice, drill on it and then play. Ultimate should still be about play. It's fun and it's important to remember that. It's also fun to be better and improve. During some unscientific thought, I figured that if every person had one less turnover that could potentially result in three more scores. Three more scores could very well be the difference between losing 10-13 and winning 13-10. Nobody needs to win the game on the next throw, they just need to complete the next throw. They need to be there on defense to cause problems. Big things can still get done in the next three weeks, but the urgency has to be there and heads have to be in it. And I have to do more than write about it.
I'm having a quiet day full of thoughts and many are swirling about the game of Ultimate and my involvement in it. Some of that is brought on by a sore ankle and some of that is ripped right from the start of the day. As my alarm was beeping at me, I was screaming at my team to go for the disc. My dream screams were pleas to have the urgency and aggression to fight for a floating disc. If the disc hasn't hit the ground yet, there's still a chance. It's not a ball, it's hanging in the air, ripe for the taking. There are many things I don't know how to teach, today it's felt like most things, but one I've struggled with on both a small scale and on a large scale is that sense of urgency.
The goal, the test, Sectionals is less than a month away for the team. Our practice attendance has remained low and now we're having trouble drawing adequate numbers for tournaments. These are obviously big problems that need to be addressed, but I'm realizing that they are next year's problems. This is the hand we've got, regardless of the hand we wanted. There aren't enough weeks left to implement big changes or find other players, we have to work within this framework. We'll hope that our injured come back quickly, but we need to face the facts.
I've spent my day trying to figure out what the facts are. I think they are first that we need to admit that we could have been better and then put that behind us. Not enough people on the team did the work to really raise the level of play and we've had some bad luck, but what can we do now? I believe we can still do plenty. I believe this team is better than last year's team. There are more people I trust to have the discs in their hands. There are more players when they show up. Attendance is not a new problem. The only thing this team lacks compared to last year is that monstrous defensive closer; a painful thing to miss for sure, but if we'd play to our strengths it wouldn't be so detrimental. Again, I'm asking what can we do? We have to come together as a team and support one another instead of tearing people down. We've got to be engaged in the game- knowing the force, being ready to catch discs, being aware. Maybe I should be able to teach these things, but I don't know how so I just have to ask everyone to wake up and be ready, even when they are tired. Maybe morning practices taught some of that.
I also have some question of what to do during the next three weeks. On that front, I think I'd like to focus on one skill per practice, drill on it and then play. Ultimate should still be about play. It's fun and it's important to remember that. It's also fun to be better and improve. During some unscientific thought, I figured that if every person had one less turnover that could potentially result in three more scores. Three more scores could very well be the difference between losing 10-13 and winning 13-10. Nobody needs to win the game on the next throw, they just need to complete the next throw. They need to be there on defense to cause problems. Big things can still get done in the next three weeks, but the urgency has to be there and heads have to be in it. And I have to do more than write about it.
Monday, March 02, 2009
Snow day
I stood at the end of the driveway in three inches of snow. The government didn't close, so neither did my workplace. Large flakes floated down from the sky. I stood and watched them fall. The earth had that silent bright white magic of a snowstorm. I pulled out my phone, I can do that now, as I stood in the glistening silence. I dialed work and declared my own snow day. I've debated the merits of my decision between shoveling the driveway, sledding, and making snow ice cream. My grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup lunch go in the plus column. The people without jobs, my responsibility to my employer weigh on the con side. It's almost over now, this snow day. I need to be over it too. I made my decision. I enjoyed the snow. I need be fine with the rest of it. Maybe another bowl of snow ice cream would help.
I stood at the end of the driveway in three inches of snow. The government didn't close, so neither did my workplace. Large flakes floated down from the sky. I stood and watched them fall. The earth had that silent bright white magic of a snowstorm. I pulled out my phone, I can do that now, as I stood in the glistening silence. I dialed work and declared my own snow day. I've debated the merits of my decision between shoveling the driveway, sledding, and making snow ice cream. My grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup lunch go in the plus column. The people without jobs, my responsibility to my employer weigh on the con side. It's almost over now, this snow day. I need to be over it too. I made my decision. I enjoyed the snow. I need be fine with the rest of it. Maybe another bowl of snow ice cream would help.
Sunday, March 01, 2009
Such an imperfect weekend. So lovely
My body hasn't really felt the same since that doubleheader in January. I've worked hard to try to get myself back in place, but I'm not there and Winter League Tournament time had rolled around to meet me. Our first game was cancelled. Our numbers were high and we managed to roll through the new first game. I played a few points and felt ok. I felt like a contributor and that was the best I could be. Fortunately, we had lots of male subs and we went on to victory. The second game was against that team that took us down by universe point the last time I was feeling good. That defeat still hurt and I made that clear to my teammates. We got off to a quick start and were up by a few points, before the game became 6-5. I was contributing where I could and then took a step in the wrong direction and went down with a twisted ankle. The team marched on and took the game with a commanding finish. It was a good feeling everywhere except in my ankle. There were a number of shining moments, but none more than the dominance of SM. She was a game changer. She's always been fast and relentless, but yesterday I think Team Schaefer finally saw her for the Ultimate player that we all knew she could be. No one could cover her deep. I think she scored a dozen if she scored one. She made great grabs stretched out up in the air and great grabs reaching out. The other team starting giving her a 10-yard cushion, so the offense ran through her in cut almost every time. After that, she probably still went on to score a few. It was awesome.
My day wasn't done as I went from Burrito Brothers to the local tavern after icing my ankle. I heard a Monkees cover band which is as fun as it sounds and then saw a Rock-a-billy show. At the urging of one member of our group, I did get up and dance which did nothing for my ankle. It didn't take but a few steps for me to realize that the group member urging us to dance wasn't just a dance enthusiast, she was one heckuva dancer. Her Keds were flying all over the place to the Rock-a-billy beat. She brought guys to their feet so they could dance with her. It was splendid. I could only last two songs before my ankle cried out, but I think she could have danced the floor off.
Today should have been semi-finals and finals, but thanks to weather it has turned into brunch and a movie. My ankle thanks Mother Nature.
My body hasn't really felt the same since that doubleheader in January. I've worked hard to try to get myself back in place, but I'm not there and Winter League Tournament time had rolled around to meet me. Our first game was cancelled. Our numbers were high and we managed to roll through the new first game. I played a few points and felt ok. I felt like a contributor and that was the best I could be. Fortunately, we had lots of male subs and we went on to victory. The second game was against that team that took us down by universe point the last time I was feeling good. That defeat still hurt and I made that clear to my teammates. We got off to a quick start and were up by a few points, before the game became 6-5. I was contributing where I could and then took a step in the wrong direction and went down with a twisted ankle. The team marched on and took the game with a commanding finish. It was a good feeling everywhere except in my ankle. There were a number of shining moments, but none more than the dominance of SM. She was a game changer. She's always been fast and relentless, but yesterday I think Team Schaefer finally saw her for the Ultimate player that we all knew she could be. No one could cover her deep. I think she scored a dozen if she scored one. She made great grabs stretched out up in the air and great grabs reaching out. The other team starting giving her a 10-yard cushion, so the offense ran through her in cut almost every time. After that, she probably still went on to score a few. It was awesome.
My day wasn't done as I went from Burrito Brothers to the local tavern after icing my ankle. I heard a Monkees cover band which is as fun as it sounds and then saw a Rock-a-billy show. At the urging of one member of our group, I did get up and dance which did nothing for my ankle. It didn't take but a few steps for me to realize that the group member urging us to dance wasn't just a dance enthusiast, she was one heckuva dancer. Her Keds were flying all over the place to the Rock-a-billy beat. She brought guys to their feet so they could dance with her. It was splendid. I could only last two songs before my ankle cried out, but I think she could have danced the floor off.
Today should have been semi-finals and finals, but thanks to weather it has turned into brunch and a movie. My ankle thanks Mother Nature.
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