Today Was Grey and Rainy

and while those of you in colder climes are probably about ready to tell me and my pampered Southern Californian ass to go shove it, consider first how profoundly a sunless day affects the psyche of those who are used to clear skies all the time. The collective mental chemistry of an entire geographical region is thrown off. Everyone-- even those of us from Boston-- are dragging our faces on the ground and generally cranky.

Now this was not the most pleasant of past weeks, despite the holiday weekend that led into it, spent largely in LA to see a friend and attend a wedding as her date. It was one of those fun weekends that throws you off your schedule (going to bed at 3AM and waking at 9, rather than the 9PM to 6AM schedule I was trying to accustom myself to). I'm not complaining here, it was certainly worth it, but I want you to have an idea of the type of general exhaustion I was feeling, driving my car back home to San Diego at 11PM Monday night.

Tuesday's morning swim was skipped so that I could get to bed when I got home and wake up to take care of work that needed to be done before 9, without having to get up at 4AM. The job on Tuesday was a disorganized mess, for which I largely blame my boss. Lately he's been farming out work to me more as though I was his secretary, rather than someone with 6 years experience in technical operations. The week worsened as Wednesday's workout was skipped because-- surprise!-- I was sent back up to LA. I missed the train by about 3 minutes (for reasons so lame I will not go into them further) and ended up driving up to LA, only to find that the meeting that was the sole reason for my trip, had been cancelled. That evening found me, once again, tired and driving back to San Diego at 11PM. No swim Thursday as I had work to do in the morning, though I started to set things straight at the office somewhat. Friday they began to unstraigten themselves again, but what the hey, it's the weekend.

What was the truly dismal part of the week, however, was that I found myself compelled to sever two friendships with women who seemed unable to accept me as a friend and not a lover-- one because she couldn't seem to find her way to stop being mean to me, and one because I couldn't seem to stop being mean to her. I have few excuses for the latter, save the realization that some people simply beg to be victimized, and without thinking, we give them what they ask. All the same, I wish I possessed more wisdom and grace in navigating such situations. I mean well, but it has been pointed out to me that intention and outcome are rarely coincident.

All this to say that, despite a relaxing weekend spent with a friend, trying to recover, today still felt pretty low. Work got worse, and even the skies decided to reflect my mood. My highlight today was reading my friends blog which had not one, but two new posts since I had last read it. In it, she described me as a "real runner", which was nice to hear, but hardly-- after a decade off competition, the discovery of a defective hip, and an accident resulting in fracture of both knees-- how I think of myself anymore. All the same, I am reminded of a favorite quote from my favorite book:

"Those who could not handle the rigors of this singular objective would simply fade away from it all and go on to less arduous pursuits. There has probably never been one yet who has done so, however, without leaving a part of himself there in the quiet tiled solace of the early afternoon lockerroom, knotting his loathsome smelling laces for yet another, jesus god, ten-miler with the boys. Once a runner..."

You see, it's not so much that the runner is still in me, as that, somewhere out there, there's me, still running.

Running, to him, was real...

...the way he did it, the realest thing he knew. It was all joy and woe-- hard as diamonds-- it made him weary beyond all comprehension... but it also made him free.

-from Once A Runner
by John L. Parker Jr.

I have this friend, and she is doing something very brave. She is running a marathon. She is doing this, despite not liking to run very much, and her reasons are varied, and you can read about them on her site, but what I'd like to point out is that she is running these 26.2 long miles with Team in Training, which is the events fund raising arm of the Leukemia Lymphoma society. That is to say, she is doing this for more than personal growth and gain, and for an organization that is more than "a good cause". This isn't something theoretical, this money goes to helping people with cancer. You should help her out here.


Thinking about what she is doing, taking up a new sport, at the same time that I am trying to transition to swimming, has made me nostalgic for my running days, so here I am going to share some history.

First, you must understand, if you have not met me, that I am not a large man. I'm 5'7" and 145 # now, and I was considerably smaller until I was in my late teens. I had tried nearly every major sport: baseball, basketball, soccer, as well as some more esoteric ones, like gymnastics and Karate. My size and lack of confidence made me terrible at the team sports, and even in the individual ones, where I showed some skill, I was still hampered by a lack of power. I suspected, however that, while I was not strong in the sense of power, I had a different type of strength-- endurance. I knew I could be tough. I could hold my breath longer than anyone underwater, not because I had better lungs, just because I cared less about how uncomfortable it became. In fights-- and where you're the smallest kid, and a nerd to boot, there are plenty-- I rarely won, but could take a pounding, and never complained or tattled. Even as a toddler, when I was sick, I could patiently wait in discomfort in the doctor's office without whining like the other kids. When I learned of the term "stoic" in my freshman year of high school, I thought yeah, that's me. (Note: The author makes no claim to still possessing this trait as an adult).

Not for any particular love of the sport, but somehow, I tied all these ideas together, and decided that I wanted to be a runner and began, in the summer before my sophomore year of high school, to plod along the 2 mile trail at Pond Meadow Park, three times a week, feeling triumphant that-- through coaxing and cajoling myself to just go to the next tree, then the next and so on-- I could do the whole thing without stopping to walk. When we met for informal practice a few weeks before school began, I was in for a rude awakening. Our first run was a 2 mile warm up, followed by 10 "hill repeats". These were fast sprints uphill, with a slow jog down for rest. Interval training was not a concept with which I was familiar, and having run further than I ever had in my life just to get there, I knew it was going to get ugly. Each one, in the 90 plus degree New England August heat, was an trial of endurance. My feet burned, my legs ached, the strained, slightly nauseous feeling that I had become familiar with when short of breath was replaced by entirely new sensations of discomfort. The best I can say for my first practice was that I ran them all, and I didn't stop to walk. All the same, after the return run to the school at the end of the workout, coach Joe gathered us around and gave a little speech about the season, then welcomed the newcomers and told me, "glad you're joining us, you're really strong".

Now to this point, I'd been called smart, nice, funny, even handsome (and believe me, I was an awkward looking kid), but no one had ever before even considered calling me strong. To a kid who'd been picked on for his size most of his life, this was huge. I was strong.

If You Treat Everyone As A Holy Person...

...you will be happy.

This is an often uttered piece of advice in a very sweet little book or parables called The Holy Man. The first time I read this book I thought it was a bright and witty story. I put it down and promptly forgot about it and it's message. I've picked it up and read it a handful of times over the years since I first got it, and that lesson has sunk in more and more each time. Lately I've been trying in earnest to take this message to heart. Considering the humbling experiences of the past couple of years, this is not surprising to me. Still, in this endeavor, I have not always been successful.

It is not always an easy thing to do in the complex world of interpersonal relationships, to treat others as Holy, particularly when they insist on definitely un-holy-like behavior such as swearing at you in the street, belittling you, or acting out in anger. The message's beauty though isn't in its ease as much as in its simplicity: "Treat EVERYONE as a Holy Person..."-- not be forgiving to everyone all the time; not be friendly with everyone. Instead, remember that they are holy, no matter how impossibly un-holy they may act, and respond to them accordingly, as you feel a holy person should be treated.

..."and YOU will be HAPPY"...
Notice also that the message does not promise that you will be successful, well liked, more respected, smarter, or better; merely that you will be happy. One can assume that happiness will bring these other things, but that is up to the individual. The message, in this sense as well, is very simple. Do this and this will be your reward.

This is not easy to follow, but simple without being trivial in any way, and you know what? I believe it.

I am going to try.

Before You Kiss Me, You Should Know...

Papa was a rodeo.

Music is very, very good-- uplifting music, softly sad music, dancing music, silly music, clever music, serious music... all of it. There's so much of it out there, and a lot of it is really worth checking out. For this reason, I do hereby officially declare, on this 8th day of February in the year of our Lord (or someone's Lord, anyway) 2006, that Music Is One of Those Things That Makes Life Good [sic.].

More to follow.

On The Dot

I was having a dream about talking to my boss, when I suddenly realized, in my sleep, that I have a funeral for a former colleague to attend today, and I forgot to tell him. I woke suddenly and completely, and sent him an e-mail. It was 6AM precisely.

That was really weird.

I could stay up and go to the gym, but despite not being particularly sleepy, I am headachy, dizzy and ill-tempered (these things are not uncommon for me in the morning), so I think I'll stay here under the covers and shut my eyes.

Stories to Tell

You know all those thoughts that run through your head as you are getting ready to sleep? I think they make great stories. Problem is, I can rarely be bothered to get my ass out of bed and write them down, and when I do, there it's ineffective (must be the change of state from settling down to sleep to ready to write). I need a better way to capture these. Any thoughts?

A few things have occurred to me this week during the fully waking hours. First is that I need someone to be quiet with. I may have mentioned this before, so please stop me if you've heard this one, but I'm talking about someone whose presence is comforting and loving, but whose relationship doesn't require constant attention. I know, from my office worker mind (and I am in the office as I write this, mind you), this comes off as sounding cold, but what I mean, really, is something quite sweet. I want someone with whom I can simply be. The noise of good company is fun, and I couldn't do without. Time with the silence of being alone is needed too. Lately though, there's either too much noise, or too much alone in my head. It's time for balance.