The Oracle/Catalina/Oro Valley Marathon (officially known as the “Tucson Marathon)
Last Sunday, I participated, for the third time in this event (my 10th official marathon – 15th if you count coaching). And it went pretty well. As usual, it was cold and dark at the starting area, but at least they let us stay on the buses, which were heated. And as usual, the general downhillness of the course pretty much thrashed my legs. I was cruising along pretty well for the first ten miles or so – even thinking I might have an outside shot at hitting another 3:30 if all went well – but as soon as we turned off the highway and onto Biosphere Road for a 4-mile out-and-back (and started running up a hill for the first time in about 6 miles) I knew that wasn’t going to happen, mainly because my hips started barking at me – and they were pretty loud and pretty insistent. They continued to yip, yap, and yelp for the final 16.2 miles. First one would raise a ruckus, then that one would settle down and the other one would start up. But it was still a good day, and I almost hit my goal time of 3:45 (finished just a smidge over 3:48). The weather was beautiful (a little too warm, if anything), my calf held up all the way through (made sure to walk up the hill that thrashed it last year), and I didn’t feel totally wrecked at the end – even managed to do the last mile in around 8:30, which is a pretty strong finish for me. The typical 24-48 hour-after-running-a-marathon soreness kicked in right on schedule, but I went for a swim Tuesday morning, then a very slow, very short shuffle-run on Tuesday afternoon, and those seemed to work out most of the kinks. My favorite part of the whole thing, as it is every year, was the annual letter-of-complaint in yesterday’s newspaper from a grumpy retiree living in the area along the marathon route (this year’s edition was complaining that the marathon ruined the “overall atmosphere” of their golf tournament because participants were forced to wait in traffic while leaving the golf course – can you hear my heart is weeping for these poor, grumpy people?). So now we’re gearing up for the Rock ‘n’ Roll marathon in Phoenix in January (where I’ll coach and Katie will run for time) and I’ll jump back into my training for the 50-miler in March by hitting the trails as much as possible.
I’ve got gas… and I’m happy about it
If you read last week’s entry, you might remember we had a gas leak, which led to having our gas cut off, which meant no heat or hot water for at least a week. It’s actually turned out to be a week-and-a-half (but who’s counting). The good news is that the weather gods have been smiling on us, and we enjoyed temperatures in the upper 70’s and lower 80’s the whole time (and there’s a storm moving in today – yeah!) so not having a furnace wasn’t really an issue. And we learned to adjust to the whole cold shower thing. All you need to do is heat up a big old pan full of water, set it next to the shower, use a cup to dump it on your head, and voila – you’ve got a makeshift shower ready to go. We only ran into a couple of issues while fixing the gas leak, the biggest one being another leak that was between the entry to the house and the furnace (it wasn’t really leaking, but the line wouldn’t hold the pressure when they pumped it up to the level required for the inspection). So they wound up replacing that line as well, and we’ve now got all new gas lines for the house that hold way more pressure than they’ll ever need to. Yesterday, we passed the inspection with flying colors, and the gas company is supposed to be coming out this morning to turn everything back on. Needless to say, I am really, really, really looking forward to a nice steamy shower this evening after my run.
More on the kitchen
The other good news is they started putting in our cabinets yesterday, and they look fabulously wonderful (or wonderfully fabulous, whichever you prefer). The upper cabinets are in place, and they’re installing the lowers tomorrow. It’s actually starting to look a lot like a kitchen again – I think I’d forgotten what one of those was. Katie went out and spent more of our money yesterday on the new stove and microwave, and if all goes well, we might actually have the appliances back in place before the end of the year, although I’m not sure I’m actually going to be able to bring myself to use them – everything is going to be so nice and new that I’m afraid I’ll be hesitant to touch anything. Until then, I just keep telling myself, “It will all be worth it in the end,” and trying to ignore our rapidly deflating savings account. As Katie keeps reminding me, “It’s only money,” which I have never really believed before, and I don’t really believe now, and I doubt if I’ll ever really believe in the future, but I will keep trying to make myself believe, because it’s a much happier world to live in than the one where money does matter and your stack is being burned through at an alarming rate.
That’s all for now, so until next time, may your furnace keep pumping out heat, may your hot water heater keep pumping out hot water, and may your days (and nights) be filled with holiday cheer.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Gas Lines, Triathlons, and the End of the Cave
I Got No Gas
This might seem like a good thing, but when the gas you're missing is natural gas, and when the reason you don't got none is because your gas line is broken, and when you've got a gas furnace and gas water heater that you count on for heating up the house and heating up the water, it ain't so great. So we discovered the gas leak when our contractor was out looking for the water main, so he could shut off the water to the house so they could fix the pipe that created our cave (which he found, which he shut off, which they repaired, which they filled in, and which they cemented over), and the gas company wasted no time coming over and shutting off our gas (I guess they have some kind of concern about a minor problem like, I don't know, someone lighting a match and blowing up a good portion of the neighborhood). So then we had to wait a couple of days for the utility companies to come out and mark their lines so that we could dig a new trench for a new gas line to replace the old gas line that had a leak. That got done, and now we've got a beautiful trench running across our backyard. The good news is that while all this is being done, we're enjoying a beautiful stretch of days with temps in the upper 70's, so the "no heat" part isn't really a problem. But cold showers just aren't a lot of fun. Hopefully, we'll be up and running again by the middle of next week.
Speaking of running…
Tomorrow, I'll be participating in the Tucson marathon, which ironically enough starts in Oracle, continues to Catalina, and ends in Oro Valley (which means, technically, none of it takes place in Tucson). I'm hoping for a nice medium-hard run, which means I should be able to finish somewhere under four hours (3:45 would be great).
Speaking of running (and cycling, and swimming…)
I just signed up for another fund-raising season with Team in Training. So during the next couple of months, I'll be once again raising money to support the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. During the past five years, Katie and I have raised around $25,000 thanks to the generous donations sent in from a variety of friends, family, colleagues, and other assorted characters. My official event this go-round is the Deuceman triathlon, which is a half-ironman (yes, now that Katie's done one, I feel obligated to give it a go) and takes place in beautiful Show Low, Arizona in June. So in addition to continuing to help coach our marathon team (getting ready for marathons in San Diego and Anchorage), I'll be training for the 50-miler in March, then I'll start putting in some miles on the bike so I'm ready for the tri (1.2-mile swim, 56-mile bike, and a half-marathon). The good news is I don't have to worry about what I'm going to be doing on the weekends (and most days before/after school) for the next half-year. Once I've got my fundraising site set up and ready to go, I'll be actively soliciting donations from all of you - so get those checkbooks/credit cards warmed up and ready to go, cause I just know you're eager to lend a hand (seriously, your continued support is appreciated more than I can express).
And now, a kitchen update
It's actually starting to come together. Once the whole "cave" issue was cleared up, the guys came in and put up the walls and ceilings, and the whole room got painted yesterday, so it looks pretty good. We've got the cabinets scheduled to be installed next week, and once they're in, they can take a template for the counter, retile the parts of the floor that had to be torn out, and put some of the appliances in. So Katie and I will be doing some stove/microwave/faucet/light fixture shopping this weekend. If all goes well (can't imagine how anything could go wrong - can you?) we should actually be nearing completion of the whole project when we ring in the new year. Keep your fingers crossed.
I've got to head out for the expo to pick up my number, t-shirt (hoping for a technical tee this year) and timing chip, so until next time, may your gas continue to flow freely, may your pleas for assistance be heard and heeded in a timely fashion, and may your days remain sunny and clear.
This might seem like a good thing, but when the gas you're missing is natural gas, and when the reason you don't got none is because your gas line is broken, and when you've got a gas furnace and gas water heater that you count on for heating up the house and heating up the water, it ain't so great. So we discovered the gas leak when our contractor was out looking for the water main, so he could shut off the water to the house so they could fix the pipe that created our cave (which he found, which he shut off, which they repaired, which they filled in, and which they cemented over), and the gas company wasted no time coming over and shutting off our gas (I guess they have some kind of concern about a minor problem like, I don't know, someone lighting a match and blowing up a good portion of the neighborhood). So then we had to wait a couple of days for the utility companies to come out and mark their lines so that we could dig a new trench for a new gas line to replace the old gas line that had a leak. That got done, and now we've got a beautiful trench running across our backyard. The good news is that while all this is being done, we're enjoying a beautiful stretch of days with temps in the upper 70's, so the "no heat" part isn't really a problem. But cold showers just aren't a lot of fun. Hopefully, we'll be up and running again by the middle of next week.
Speaking of running…
Tomorrow, I'll be participating in the Tucson marathon, which ironically enough starts in Oracle, continues to Catalina, and ends in Oro Valley (which means, technically, none of it takes place in Tucson). I'm hoping for a nice medium-hard run, which means I should be able to finish somewhere under four hours (3:45 would be great).
Speaking of running (and cycling, and swimming…)
I just signed up for another fund-raising season with Team in Training. So during the next couple of months, I'll be once again raising money to support the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. During the past five years, Katie and I have raised around $25,000 thanks to the generous donations sent in from a variety of friends, family, colleagues, and other assorted characters. My official event this go-round is the Deuceman triathlon, which is a half-ironman (yes, now that Katie's done one, I feel obligated to give it a go) and takes place in beautiful Show Low, Arizona in June. So in addition to continuing to help coach our marathon team (getting ready for marathons in San Diego and Anchorage), I'll be training for the 50-miler in March, then I'll start putting in some miles on the bike so I'm ready for the tri (1.2-mile swim, 56-mile bike, and a half-marathon). The good news is I don't have to worry about what I'm going to be doing on the weekends (and most days before/after school) for the next half-year. Once I've got my fundraising site set up and ready to go, I'll be actively soliciting donations from all of you - so get those checkbooks/credit cards warmed up and ready to go, cause I just know you're eager to lend a hand (seriously, your continued support is appreciated more than I can express).
And now, a kitchen update
It's actually starting to come together. Once the whole "cave" issue was cleared up, the guys came in and put up the walls and ceilings, and the whole room got painted yesterday, so it looks pretty good. We've got the cabinets scheduled to be installed next week, and once they're in, they can take a template for the counter, retile the parts of the floor that had to be torn out, and put some of the appliances in. So Katie and I will be doing some stove/microwave/faucet/light fixture shopping this weekend. If all goes well (can't imagine how anything could go wrong - can you?) we should actually be nearing completion of the whole project when we ring in the new year. Keep your fingers crossed.
I've got to head out for the expo to pick up my number, t-shirt (hoping for a technical tee this year) and timing chip, so until next time, may your gas continue to flow freely, may your pleas for assistance be heard and heeded in a timely fashion, and may your days remain sunny and clear.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Mileage, Caves, and Trail-Running with the Stars
Mission Accomplished
With very little fanfare, almost no pomp, and a definite lack of circumstance, I surpassed my goal for running 2010 miles in the year 2010 last weekend. According to my scrupulously kept records, I passed the 2010-mile mark about halfway up the Phoneline trail in Sabino Canyon. To make the momentous occasion even more memorable, I celebrated with a big swig of Gatorade and a bite of peanut butter flavored Clif bar. Woo-hoo. This was so momentous and meaningful that I think I’ll go for 2011 next year (since it will be 2011 next year – get it?).
The Cave - Continued
Some of you may be familiar with Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave,” which is relevant to this entry because, as some of you may already know, we currently have a cave under our kitchen. On the other hand, the more I think about it, the more I realize that Plato’s allegory is all about how perception and reality aren’t necessarily one and the same, which may or may not fit the situation we find ourselves in – I mean, I perceive that there’s a cave under our kitchen, and there really is a cave under our kitchen, so maybe it’s not all that relevant to our situation, other than the pretty obvious fact that both situations involve caves. Unfortunately, we learned this week that our insurance won’t cover taking care of the cave under our kitchen, because it was caused by a leaking pipe that’s outside of the foundation of the house. Which I really, really, really, didn’t appreciate in the least – I mean, isn’t the whole point of having insurance so that when something goes wrong, like, oh, I don’t know, you discover that you have a cave under your kitchen, they swoop in and save the day by helping you pay to repair whatever went wrong? I guess it’s one of those grandly ironic situations that I would probably appreciate a lot more if it wasn’t happening to me, but insurance seems to be one of those things you need to have until you actually need to have it. But that’s neither here nor there in the greater grand scheme of things, but it is a definite drainer on the ol’ bank account. Right now, we’re planning to open up the entrance to the cave so we can spelunk on in and take a look around in order to assess the size of the situation. Hopefully, it only is as big as we’re currently able to see. If not, this could become really, really, really ugly. Stay posted – I’m sure there will be more on this in the future (and if you’re interested, I posted a couple of pictures of the cave on facebook).
Ultra-ing
As I begin to train seriously for the 50-miler (is there any other way to train for a 50-miler? Half-heartedly? Joyfully? Spectacularly?) I’ve decided it might be a good idea to start doing some of my running on trails (since a lot of the event is on trails, this seems like it might be a good idea). So, as noted above, I took a little run up the Phoneline trail in Sabino Canyon, which I figured would be a pretty easy way to get started, but I have to say that running on a trail is way harder than running on the road – partly because it’s steep at times, and partly because there’s lots of rocks, and partly because you have to really pay attention to every footfall, and partly because you’re taking all these little mini-steps and having to walk in certain parts and you can’t really shuffle along because if you try to do that you’ll probably wind up stubbing your toe on a rock (which hurts your toe, and if you trip and fall, could wind up hurting other body parts as well). So I made it to the end of the trail, and then I ran down the road to the parking lot, and then I ran back up the road to the end of the road, and then I ran back down the road to the parking lot, and then I was really, really tired so I called it a day. And my legs definitely were feeling it the next morning.
I’m all out of ideas for this edition, so until next time, may your floors remain solid and unfettered, may your trails remain smooth, and may your insurance remain unclaimed (unless you need it).
With very little fanfare, almost no pomp, and a definite lack of circumstance, I surpassed my goal for running 2010 miles in the year 2010 last weekend. According to my scrupulously kept records, I passed the 2010-mile mark about halfway up the Phoneline trail in Sabino Canyon. To make the momentous occasion even more memorable, I celebrated with a big swig of Gatorade and a bite of peanut butter flavored Clif bar. Woo-hoo. This was so momentous and meaningful that I think I’ll go for 2011 next year (since it will be 2011 next year – get it?).
The Cave - Continued
Some of you may be familiar with Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave,” which is relevant to this entry because, as some of you may already know, we currently have a cave under our kitchen. On the other hand, the more I think about it, the more I realize that Plato’s allegory is all about how perception and reality aren’t necessarily one and the same, which may or may not fit the situation we find ourselves in – I mean, I perceive that there’s a cave under our kitchen, and there really is a cave under our kitchen, so maybe it’s not all that relevant to our situation, other than the pretty obvious fact that both situations involve caves. Unfortunately, we learned this week that our insurance won’t cover taking care of the cave under our kitchen, because it was caused by a leaking pipe that’s outside of the foundation of the house. Which I really, really, really, didn’t appreciate in the least – I mean, isn’t the whole point of having insurance so that when something goes wrong, like, oh, I don’t know, you discover that you have a cave under your kitchen, they swoop in and save the day by helping you pay to repair whatever went wrong? I guess it’s one of those grandly ironic situations that I would probably appreciate a lot more if it wasn’t happening to me, but insurance seems to be one of those things you need to have until you actually need to have it. But that’s neither here nor there in the greater grand scheme of things, but it is a definite drainer on the ol’ bank account. Right now, we’re planning to open up the entrance to the cave so we can spelunk on in and take a look around in order to assess the size of the situation. Hopefully, it only is as big as we’re currently able to see. If not, this could become really, really, really ugly. Stay posted – I’m sure there will be more on this in the future (and if you’re interested, I posted a couple of pictures of the cave on facebook).
Ultra-ing
As I begin to train seriously for the 50-miler (is there any other way to train for a 50-miler? Half-heartedly? Joyfully? Spectacularly?) I’ve decided it might be a good idea to start doing some of my running on trails (since a lot of the event is on trails, this seems like it might be a good idea). So, as noted above, I took a little run up the Phoneline trail in Sabino Canyon, which I figured would be a pretty easy way to get started, but I have to say that running on a trail is way harder than running on the road – partly because it’s steep at times, and partly because there’s lots of rocks, and partly because you have to really pay attention to every footfall, and partly because you’re taking all these little mini-steps and having to walk in certain parts and you can’t really shuffle along because if you try to do that you’ll probably wind up stubbing your toe on a rock (which hurts your toe, and if you trip and fall, could wind up hurting other body parts as well). So I made it to the end of the trail, and then I ran down the road to the parking lot, and then I ran back up the road to the end of the road, and then I ran back down the road to the parking lot, and then I was really, really tired so I called it a day. And my legs definitely were feeling it the next morning.
I’m all out of ideas for this edition, so until next time, may your floors remain solid and unfettered, may your trails remain smooth, and may your insurance remain unclaimed (unless you need it).
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Caves, Hitler, and a Dash of Perspective
One Gigantic Freaking Hole
It's gotten to the point where I'm a little bit scared to come home after work - seems like everyday brings a new surprise as they continue to destroy and then rebuild the kitchen area in our house, and yesterday was no exception. The plumber was planning on digging up a small section of the floor so he could reroute some pipes that weren't fitting into the wall the way they should - which wasn't supposed to be a big deal, except that as he was jack-hammering away at the floor to create a small hole, he noticed that the cement was falling into the hole and disappearing. So he stopped and took a closer look, and lo and behold, what to his wondering eyes should appear, but a gigantic freaking hole underneath our house. So when I got home and asked how things were going, I was invited to poke my head into the hole in the floor, and what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a gigantic freaking hole under our house. And I do mean gigantic. This hole is, no exaggeration, large enough for me to fit in, and Katie to fit in, and Connor and Carrie to fit in - all at the same time, and there would probably be some room left over. And that's just the part we can see - we won't know for sure how large it is until we open up the floor in order to take a better look. So I guess we'll need to fill in the hole before it swallows up the entire house (although that would probably make the local news and could earn me my ten minutes of fame) which will involve tearing out a sizable portion of floor, filling in the hole with dirt and concrete, and rebuilding the torn out floor. Connor, on the other hand, thinks we should keep it the way it is - I guess he's a big fan of caves in general, and having his own personal cave might be some kind of weird status symbol in his mind. Plus, for some reason, he thinks Hitler is buried under our house now, and that we'll be famous for that (I guess we probably would be famous if Hitler was actually buried down there, but I have my doubts). Meanwhile, word has apparently gotten out in the construction-crew world, because we've had a whole bunch of guys who have stopped by to take a look at the gigantic freaking hole under our house, and every single one of them has scratched his head and said, "I've never seen anything like that before." But other than having a gigantic freaking hole under our house and a missing kitchen, everything is going swimmingly. And all of this started with getting a new dishwasher.
On the other hand…
In the spirit of the holiday season we're now in the midst of, I'm thankful for many things in my life, including the fact that I even have a home to give me so many headaches - and a job - and a mostly healthy family. So everytime I start to feel like the Gods are conspiring against us, I remind myself that this might be a hassle, but it could be ever so much more worse than it is.
Ultra Update
I officially started my training for the 50-miler this week, with a Saturday 16-miler followed by a Sunday 18-miler that included a few miles on trails. Saturday was surprisingly easy, but Sunday was a bit of a challenge as my legs were definitely feeling the distance towards the end. And now that I'm looking at my mileage, I think I'm might be hitting the 2010-mile mark even earlier than I was planning - maybe even by the end of this week.
That's all I can think of for now, so we'll cut it a little short this week and end by hoping that your turkeys remain stuffed, that your cream remains whooped, and your potatoes are mashed to perfection.
It's gotten to the point where I'm a little bit scared to come home after work - seems like everyday brings a new surprise as they continue to destroy and then rebuild the kitchen area in our house, and yesterday was no exception. The plumber was planning on digging up a small section of the floor so he could reroute some pipes that weren't fitting into the wall the way they should - which wasn't supposed to be a big deal, except that as he was jack-hammering away at the floor to create a small hole, he noticed that the cement was falling into the hole and disappearing. So he stopped and took a closer look, and lo and behold, what to his wondering eyes should appear, but a gigantic freaking hole underneath our house. So when I got home and asked how things were going, I was invited to poke my head into the hole in the floor, and what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a gigantic freaking hole under our house. And I do mean gigantic. This hole is, no exaggeration, large enough for me to fit in, and Katie to fit in, and Connor and Carrie to fit in - all at the same time, and there would probably be some room left over. And that's just the part we can see - we won't know for sure how large it is until we open up the floor in order to take a better look. So I guess we'll need to fill in the hole before it swallows up the entire house (although that would probably make the local news and could earn me my ten minutes of fame) which will involve tearing out a sizable portion of floor, filling in the hole with dirt and concrete, and rebuilding the torn out floor. Connor, on the other hand, thinks we should keep it the way it is - I guess he's a big fan of caves in general, and having his own personal cave might be some kind of weird status symbol in his mind. Plus, for some reason, he thinks Hitler is buried under our house now, and that we'll be famous for that (I guess we probably would be famous if Hitler was actually buried down there, but I have my doubts). Meanwhile, word has apparently gotten out in the construction-crew world, because we've had a whole bunch of guys who have stopped by to take a look at the gigantic freaking hole under our house, and every single one of them has scratched his head and said, "I've never seen anything like that before." But other than having a gigantic freaking hole under our house and a missing kitchen, everything is going swimmingly. And all of this started with getting a new dishwasher.
On the other hand…
In the spirit of the holiday season we're now in the midst of, I'm thankful for many things in my life, including the fact that I even have a home to give me so many headaches - and a job - and a mostly healthy family. So everytime I start to feel like the Gods are conspiring against us, I remind myself that this might be a hassle, but it could be ever so much more worse than it is.
Ultra Update
I officially started my training for the 50-miler this week, with a Saturday 16-miler followed by a Sunday 18-miler that included a few miles on trails. Saturday was surprisingly easy, but Sunday was a bit of a challenge as my legs were definitely feeling the distance towards the end. And now that I'm looking at my mileage, I think I'm might be hitting the 2010-mile mark even earlier than I was planning - maybe even by the end of this week.
That's all I can think of for now, so we'll cut it a little short this week and end by hoping that your turkeys remain stuffed, that your cream remains whooped, and your potatoes are mashed to perfection.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Moonshots, Endings, Demolition, Drummer Boys, and an Ultra
2010 in 2010
One of the somewhat obsessive-compulsive things I do (at least, it’s obsessive-compulsive according to my lovely bride, Katie – I think doing stuff like this is completely normal) is to keep track of how many miles I cover each month running, cycling, and swimming. I started doing this about 6 years ago, with the idea that I’d like to travel “around the world” by covering 25,000 miles – which I did last year. So I decided my next step would be to travel to the moon. “How far is it to the moon?” many of you (minus any rocket scientists out there) might wonder. Well, to answer your question, I went to the internet and found the following: “Since the moon's orbit is elliptical (oval-shaped), its distance varies from about 221,463 miles at perigee (closest approach to Earth) to 251,968 miles at apogee (farthest point). The average distance from the moon to the Earth is 238,857.” So there you go. I figure I’ll shoot for the average distance, which is just a little less than 240,000 miles, which means, when you take the average distance I’ve been covering in a year and divide it into the average distance from the moon, I’m not going to make it any time soon (like, it will take me another 47 or so years, give or take, which would mean I’d be around 93 when I finally make it to the moon… so maybe I should just keep traveling around the Earth?). Anyway, all of this got me thinking about a goal for this year, and I had the idea that I’d like to run 2,000 miles in a year. I’ve done 1,000 miles several times, and made it 1,500 in 2009, so it seemed like it might be possible if I was able to stay healthy for the entire year. So far, that’s worked out, and I surpassed the 1,800 mile mark at the end of October and just went by the 1,900 mark last week, so barring any unforeseen and undesired disasters, I’m thinking I’m going to make it in the next couple of weeks. And then I got to thinking that it would be pretty cool to make it to 2010 (since the year is 2010 – get it – 2010 in 2010?) so that’s what I’m shooting for now, and I’d really love it if I was able to time it so I hit that mile mark during the Tucson marathon. I’m afraid I’m probably going to pass it sooner than that, but we’ll have to wait and see.
The rest of the story
If you read last week’s posting, you might remember a section about Connor’s socials studies teacher. This week, she quit.
Demo Day
Our kitchen is now officially gone. They came, they demolished, and they hauled it all away, leaving us with a very large and very empty space. To add to the fun, we found out that the insulation between our ceiling and roof is “R-5” which, for those of you in the know when it comes to all things dealing with insulation, is really, really thin and really, really inefficient, and helps explain why our heating/cooling costs are – wait for it – through the roof. So now we’re tearing out the entire ceiling in the kitchen and living room area so they can add some thicker, heftier, manlier insulation – plus we’ll add some light fixtures which are badly needed in the living room, so that should be nice. Once again, remember, this all started with a new dishwasher.
Did I Miss Thanksgiving?
Is it just me, or does it seem like the holiday season (I would say, “Christmas,” but in the interest of being politically correct, I’ll stick with the more generic term for politically correct reasons) arrives earlier every year. Back when I was a kid, we didn’t start the holiday season until the week before the actual holiday day, but nowadays, the holiday season seems to start as soon as they’re able to mark down the Halloween candy that didn’t get purchased. So I walked into the supermarket last weekend, and what to my wondering ears should appear, but holiday music being piped in on their system, and I have to say, it just felt wrong. I considered taking some kind of stand or making some kind of protest (not sure exactly what this might have looked like, but I imagine it might have involved storming the office where the music/P.A. system controls are kept, announcing that holiday music was not allowed in public places until at least the beginning of December and cranking up some classic Led Zeppelin to get us back in the November groove). But instead, I did nothing. Just continued pushing my cart up and down the aisles, trying to block out the sound of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” which was completely unsuccessful, because that stupid song was stuck in my head for the rest of the day, and now that I’ve typed the title, that stupid song is stuck in my head again, and now it’s probably stuck in your head as well. Sorry about that.
When a Marathon Just Isn’t Enough
Apparently, there’s something wrong with me (some people might say that’s a great example of an understatement). First I ran a couple of half-marathons. Then I ran a couple of marathons. Then I upped the ante by running a marathon in Estes Park, at an elevation of around 7,500 feet. Then I ran Mt. Lemmon, which they billed as the “World’s toughest road marathon” because it climbed around 6,000 feet. Well, apparently that wasn’t enough, because I just signed up for the “Old Pueblo Fifty Mile Endurance Run” after being shamed into it by someone who shall remain nameless to protect their shamefulness (actually, this nameless person didn’t shame me at all – they offered free lodging for Katie and me during the event weekend, which just goes to show how far I’m willing to go – apparently 50 miles - for free lodging, or a t-shirt, or a medal, or, in this case, a belt buckle, which is what you get if/when you finish an “ultra”). Needless to say, my weekend mornings are pretty much booked for the next few months.
That’s all for this edition, so until next time, may your moons remain full and unfettered, may your insulation remain thick and insulatilicious, and may your supermarket remain a Santa-free zone (at least until December).
One of the somewhat obsessive-compulsive things I do (at least, it’s obsessive-compulsive according to my lovely bride, Katie – I think doing stuff like this is completely normal) is to keep track of how many miles I cover each month running, cycling, and swimming. I started doing this about 6 years ago, with the idea that I’d like to travel “around the world” by covering 25,000 miles – which I did last year. So I decided my next step would be to travel to the moon. “How far is it to the moon?” many of you (minus any rocket scientists out there) might wonder. Well, to answer your question, I went to the internet and found the following: “Since the moon's orbit is elliptical (oval-shaped), its distance varies from about 221,463 miles at perigee (closest approach to Earth) to 251,968 miles at apogee (farthest point). The average distance from the moon to the Earth is 238,857.” So there you go. I figure I’ll shoot for the average distance, which is just a little less than 240,000 miles, which means, when you take the average distance I’ve been covering in a year and divide it into the average distance from the moon, I’m not going to make it any time soon (like, it will take me another 47 or so years, give or take, which would mean I’d be around 93 when I finally make it to the moon… so maybe I should just keep traveling around the Earth?). Anyway, all of this got me thinking about a goal for this year, and I had the idea that I’d like to run 2,000 miles in a year. I’ve done 1,000 miles several times, and made it 1,500 in 2009, so it seemed like it might be possible if I was able to stay healthy for the entire year. So far, that’s worked out, and I surpassed the 1,800 mile mark at the end of October and just went by the 1,900 mark last week, so barring any unforeseen and undesired disasters, I’m thinking I’m going to make it in the next couple of weeks. And then I got to thinking that it would be pretty cool to make it to 2010 (since the year is 2010 – get it – 2010 in 2010?) so that’s what I’m shooting for now, and I’d really love it if I was able to time it so I hit that mile mark during the Tucson marathon. I’m afraid I’m probably going to pass it sooner than that, but we’ll have to wait and see.
The rest of the story
If you read last week’s posting, you might remember a section about Connor’s socials studies teacher. This week, she quit.
Demo Day
Our kitchen is now officially gone. They came, they demolished, and they hauled it all away, leaving us with a very large and very empty space. To add to the fun, we found out that the insulation between our ceiling and roof is “R-5” which, for those of you in the know when it comes to all things dealing with insulation, is really, really thin and really, really inefficient, and helps explain why our heating/cooling costs are – wait for it – through the roof. So now we’re tearing out the entire ceiling in the kitchen and living room area so they can add some thicker, heftier, manlier insulation – plus we’ll add some light fixtures which are badly needed in the living room, so that should be nice. Once again, remember, this all started with a new dishwasher.
Did I Miss Thanksgiving?
Is it just me, or does it seem like the holiday season (I would say, “Christmas,” but in the interest of being politically correct, I’ll stick with the more generic term for politically correct reasons) arrives earlier every year. Back when I was a kid, we didn’t start the holiday season until the week before the actual holiday day, but nowadays, the holiday season seems to start as soon as they’re able to mark down the Halloween candy that didn’t get purchased. So I walked into the supermarket last weekend, and what to my wondering ears should appear, but holiday music being piped in on their system, and I have to say, it just felt wrong. I considered taking some kind of stand or making some kind of protest (not sure exactly what this might have looked like, but I imagine it might have involved storming the office where the music/P.A. system controls are kept, announcing that holiday music was not allowed in public places until at least the beginning of December and cranking up some classic Led Zeppelin to get us back in the November groove). But instead, I did nothing. Just continued pushing my cart up and down the aisles, trying to block out the sound of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” which was completely unsuccessful, because that stupid song was stuck in my head for the rest of the day, and now that I’ve typed the title, that stupid song is stuck in my head again, and now it’s probably stuck in your head as well. Sorry about that.
When a Marathon Just Isn’t Enough
Apparently, there’s something wrong with me (some people might say that’s a great example of an understatement). First I ran a couple of half-marathons. Then I ran a couple of marathons. Then I upped the ante by running a marathon in Estes Park, at an elevation of around 7,500 feet. Then I ran Mt. Lemmon, which they billed as the “World’s toughest road marathon” because it climbed around 6,000 feet. Well, apparently that wasn’t enough, because I just signed up for the “Old Pueblo Fifty Mile Endurance Run” after being shamed into it by someone who shall remain nameless to protect their shamefulness (actually, this nameless person didn’t shame me at all – they offered free lodging for Katie and me during the event weekend, which just goes to show how far I’m willing to go – apparently 50 miles - for free lodging, or a t-shirt, or a medal, or, in this case, a belt buckle, which is what you get if/when you finish an “ultra”). Needless to say, my weekend mornings are pretty much booked for the next few months.
That’s all for this edition, so until next time, may your moons remain full and unfettered, may your insulation remain thick and insulatilicious, and may your supermarket remain a Santa-free zone (at least until December).
Friday, November 12, 2010
Social Studies, Chaos, and Too Many Options
Mr. Negativity Meets His Soul-Mate
Social studies this year has been an ongoing saga for our young son, Connor, who is in 7th grade at a school that shall remain nameless in order to protect the innocent. First off, his original social studies teacher was reassigned to a different role right at the beginning of the year, so they had to go searching for a part-time person to replace him, which – as you may or may not be aware – isn’t the easiest thing to do. So they had a series of subs that led to a long-term sub for the first couple of months of school. This, as you might imagine, isn’t ideal because there’s not a whole lot of continuity when the subs are switching off, plus the class tends to take advantage of situations like this, and the whole thing was kind of chaotic. Then, finally, they managed to find someone to take the job. Unfortunately, this has turned out to be even more of an issue than what existed before. Now if you know Connor, or have heard us tell tales about him, you might be aware that he isn’t exactly the world’s most positive person. So when he came home and started talking about how negative his new social studies teacher was, I have to admit that a part of me was thrilled by this. My son had actually met someone that he considered to be negative – how great is that? For the past few weeks, he has continued to come home with all kinds of stories about the crazy things his social studies teacher has said or done. Here are just a few examples:
•She’s mad that she doesn’t have her own classroom, so she had the kids write letters to the principal complaining about it and requesting that she be given another teacher’s extra room (yes, there is a teacher there who has two rooms).
•She’s mad at the kids and how they behave during class, so she’s making tapes of them that she’s planning on sharing with parents (not sure when/how that’s going to happen, but I’m looking forward to hearing more)
•She’s mad at the entire school and everyone who works there, so she’s writing a book to expose the whole sordid mess, and she’s going to sell copies to parents and make a whole bunch of money (no, I’m not planning on purchasing a copy – though I would love to take a look at it for free).
So it’s all kind of crazy (side note: this is someone who apparently won some kind of award for being a great teacher before she came here) but I have to admit that I’m not all that up-in-arms about the whole fiasco, because even though Connor isn’t learning anything related to the official social studies “curriculum” I actually think he’s learning more in this situation then he’s ever learned before. And he has some mildly amusing stories to tell.
Let the Destruction Begin
As mentioned earlier, we bought a new dishwasher several weeks ago, which led to the discovery that we had a leak under our sink, which led to the discovery that we had some mold growing in the walls and cabinets, which led to us calling the insurance company, which led to us deciding to just go ahead and redo the entire kitchen. So now we’re starting to stick our toes in the pool of renovation. The mold is now gone, but so is half of the kitchen, including the sink, stove, dishwasher, and half the cabinets/counter. Yesterday, we finalized our layout plan, and we’ve now ordered new cabinets and counters, figured out gas lines for a new stove, made a plan for the electricity that will include lots of outlets and new lighting, and made the first of several alarmingly large payments. Next step will be to destroy the rest of the kitchen (as well as the ceiling in the adjoining room so Katie can finally be rid of the dreaded “popcorn”), and then start putting all the lines and wires and pipes where they need to go. And it’s all because of a dishwasher. I’m pretty sure there’s a lesson to be learned in here somewhere – though I’m just not exactly sure what it is – something about new dishwashers, or checking under your sink, or something like that. All I really know for sure is that I really, really miss having a kitchen sink (which is now sitting in the entry hall) – and it’s going to be awhile before we have one again.
More on the Kitchen
Most people would probably agree that having choices is a good thing, but after visiting the kitchen showroom and going through the whole decision-making process with this kitchen project, there’s also a part of me that feels completely overwhelmed by all the choices we had to make about colors, styles, moldings, backsplashes, trims, hardware, drawer pulls, fixtures, voltage, wattage, amperage, 60/40 or 50/50, left or right, single or double, rack or shelf, single or double-barrel trash pullout, how to handle the soffit (up until about a week ago, I didn’t even know what a soffit was let alone that we had not one, but two of them in our kitchen), what kind of lighting, where to put fixtures and switches, dimmers, popcorn or plain, directional or fixed, check or credit card, itemized or complete, 2 cm or 3 cm, melamine or ply, and on and on and on. It’s almost as bad as going to the store and trying to buy some toothpaste (sometimes, I just stand in the toothpaste aisle for several minutes, my mind a complete blank and my heart sinking as I scan all the different types of toothpaste).
That’s all for this edition, so until next time, may your lessons be learned, may your kitchen remain dry, and may your choices remain clear and unfettered.
Social studies this year has been an ongoing saga for our young son, Connor, who is in 7th grade at a school that shall remain nameless in order to protect the innocent. First off, his original social studies teacher was reassigned to a different role right at the beginning of the year, so they had to go searching for a part-time person to replace him, which – as you may or may not be aware – isn’t the easiest thing to do. So they had a series of subs that led to a long-term sub for the first couple of months of school. This, as you might imagine, isn’t ideal because there’s not a whole lot of continuity when the subs are switching off, plus the class tends to take advantage of situations like this, and the whole thing was kind of chaotic. Then, finally, they managed to find someone to take the job. Unfortunately, this has turned out to be even more of an issue than what existed before. Now if you know Connor, or have heard us tell tales about him, you might be aware that he isn’t exactly the world’s most positive person. So when he came home and started talking about how negative his new social studies teacher was, I have to admit that a part of me was thrilled by this. My son had actually met someone that he considered to be negative – how great is that? For the past few weeks, he has continued to come home with all kinds of stories about the crazy things his social studies teacher has said or done. Here are just a few examples:
•She’s mad that she doesn’t have her own classroom, so she had the kids write letters to the principal complaining about it and requesting that she be given another teacher’s extra room (yes, there is a teacher there who has two rooms).
•She’s mad at the kids and how they behave during class, so she’s making tapes of them that she’s planning on sharing with parents (not sure when/how that’s going to happen, but I’m looking forward to hearing more)
•She’s mad at the entire school and everyone who works there, so she’s writing a book to expose the whole sordid mess, and she’s going to sell copies to parents and make a whole bunch of money (no, I’m not planning on purchasing a copy – though I would love to take a look at it for free).
So it’s all kind of crazy (side note: this is someone who apparently won some kind of award for being a great teacher before she came here) but I have to admit that I’m not all that up-in-arms about the whole fiasco, because even though Connor isn’t learning anything related to the official social studies “curriculum” I actually think he’s learning more in this situation then he’s ever learned before. And he has some mildly amusing stories to tell.
Let the Destruction Begin
As mentioned earlier, we bought a new dishwasher several weeks ago, which led to the discovery that we had a leak under our sink, which led to the discovery that we had some mold growing in the walls and cabinets, which led to us calling the insurance company, which led to us deciding to just go ahead and redo the entire kitchen. So now we’re starting to stick our toes in the pool of renovation. The mold is now gone, but so is half of the kitchen, including the sink, stove, dishwasher, and half the cabinets/counter. Yesterday, we finalized our layout plan, and we’ve now ordered new cabinets and counters, figured out gas lines for a new stove, made a plan for the electricity that will include lots of outlets and new lighting, and made the first of several alarmingly large payments. Next step will be to destroy the rest of the kitchen (as well as the ceiling in the adjoining room so Katie can finally be rid of the dreaded “popcorn”), and then start putting all the lines and wires and pipes where they need to go. And it’s all because of a dishwasher. I’m pretty sure there’s a lesson to be learned in here somewhere – though I’m just not exactly sure what it is – something about new dishwashers, or checking under your sink, or something like that. All I really know for sure is that I really, really miss having a kitchen sink (which is now sitting in the entry hall) – and it’s going to be awhile before we have one again.
More on the Kitchen
Most people would probably agree that having choices is a good thing, but after visiting the kitchen showroom and going through the whole decision-making process with this kitchen project, there’s also a part of me that feels completely overwhelmed by all the choices we had to make about colors, styles, moldings, backsplashes, trims, hardware, drawer pulls, fixtures, voltage, wattage, amperage, 60/40 or 50/50, left or right, single or double, rack or shelf, single or double-barrel trash pullout, how to handle the soffit (up until about a week ago, I didn’t even know what a soffit was let alone that we had not one, but two of them in our kitchen), what kind of lighting, where to put fixtures and switches, dimmers, popcorn or plain, directional or fixed, check or credit card, itemized or complete, 2 cm or 3 cm, melamine or ply, and on and on and on. It’s almost as bad as going to the store and trying to buy some toothpaste (sometimes, I just stand in the toothpaste aisle for several minutes, my mind a complete blank and my heart sinking as I scan all the different types of toothpaste).
That’s all for this edition, so until next time, may your lessons be learned, may your kitchen remain dry, and may your choices remain clear and unfettered.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Mutants, Mold, and a Cookie Wrap-up
Teenage Mutant Ninja Pumpkin
Every Halloween for as long as I can remember, we’ve bought one or more pumpkins, cut them open and scooped out the “guts,” carved various designs or faces in them, then put them outside with a candle lighting them up for all to see. I know this whole thing probably sounds kind of weird, and I don’t know exactly why we do this or how the whole thing got started, but we do it without really thinking about it. Over the years, we’ve had several “strange” or “unusual” pumpkins. Not because of their appearance, but because of something we discovered after bringing them home and starting the whole “cutting open, scooping out, carving designs” process. We’ve had the gross and gicky pumpkin that was so positively pungent no one wanted to stick their hand inside (guess who got to take care of that one) and we’ve had the really dry, almost empty pumpkin that was actually pretty easy to deal with because there wasn’t much to deal with. Then there was the year that Katie brought home an indestructible pumpkin. When I took the knife to it, I wasn’t able to pierce the skin. So I pressed harder. Still nothing. So I got a bigger, sharper knife, but I still couldn’t cut into it. I even tried various chisels and saws and other implements (though I never broke out the blowtorch) but that danged pumpkin just wouldn’t be cut into. So that one wound up getting set outside without any kind of work being done on it. This year, though, we had the strangest pumpkin of all. First of all, it was pretty big (Katie let Connor pick out the biggest one he could find), but the strange thing was when I cut it open and started scooping it out, I discovered… attached to the lid I’d just removed… are you ready for this… a pumpkin plant that was growing inside the pumpkin! Needless to say, I was taken aback, and I immediately exclaimed, “This freaky mutant pumpkin has a pumpkin growing inside it.” I mean, that’s like if a person was growing inside another person. Can you imagine such a thing? Anyway, Katie wasn’t particularly impressed (maybe because she’s actually had people growing inside her) but Carrie and Connor both thought it was pretty cool, especially when we found about six other little pumpkin plants growing inside the pumpkin.
Let the Games Begin
Our kitchen is now officially “under construction,” the first step being the eradication of any and all mold lingering in the walls as a result of our leaky pipe under our sink. So they came out and tore out one side of the kitchen, including the sink, the cabinets, the counter, etc. and did whatever it is they do to get rid of the bad stuff, and when I got home, it looked like that scene from E.T., the Extra-Terrestrial when the military guys put up the plastic tent and freak Elliot and E.T. out by acting all paranoid about infectious alien diseases, because the kitchen is completely wrapped up in plastic, and there’s some kind of really loud device whooshing away inside the wrapping (don’t know what it is, but I’m assuming it’s some kind of mold-killer – apparently mold doesn’t like really loud whooshing sounds - neither does Connor - hmm.). So we’ve got dishes scattered hither and yon, a dishwasher and range wrapped up in plastic and stored in our entryway, a bunch of food stacked on the one remaining counter, all of which adds up to a pretty big mess and the realization of how much you miss you’re kitchen sink when it’s taken away from you. There’s no telling how long this whole thing is going to stretch out, but I’m guessing it’s going to be right around 6 weeks before we get things back to normal and have the whole project done. And so it begins.
Cookie Update
So if you read last week’s entry, you might remember the whole Halloween cookie fiasco. Well, it actually got worse. I brought my cookies to school and set them out for the luncheon, and when I swung by about ten minutes later, I saw that someone else had gone to the store and bought – can you see this one coming – several dozen pumpkin-shaped sugar cookies. And these ones had orange and green sugar on them, so they looked like real pumpkins. Needless to say, only a couple of my cookies got eaten, and I’m pretty sure those were eaten out of pity by the kind of people who buy the most pitiful looking Christmas tree on the lot because they feel sorry for it. So I wound up taking the majority of the cookies back home, which was actually okay, because they were welcomed back with open arms by my wife and children.
That’s all for this edition, so until next time, may your pumpkins remain on the vine, may your mold remain mildew-free, and may your cookies remain crispy (unless you like them chewy).
Every Halloween for as long as I can remember, we’ve bought one or more pumpkins, cut them open and scooped out the “guts,” carved various designs or faces in them, then put them outside with a candle lighting them up for all to see. I know this whole thing probably sounds kind of weird, and I don’t know exactly why we do this or how the whole thing got started, but we do it without really thinking about it. Over the years, we’ve had several “strange” or “unusual” pumpkins. Not because of their appearance, but because of something we discovered after bringing them home and starting the whole “cutting open, scooping out, carving designs” process. We’ve had the gross and gicky pumpkin that was so positively pungent no one wanted to stick their hand inside (guess who got to take care of that one) and we’ve had the really dry, almost empty pumpkin that was actually pretty easy to deal with because there wasn’t much to deal with. Then there was the year that Katie brought home an indestructible pumpkin. When I took the knife to it, I wasn’t able to pierce the skin. So I pressed harder. Still nothing. So I got a bigger, sharper knife, but I still couldn’t cut into it. I even tried various chisels and saws and other implements (though I never broke out the blowtorch) but that danged pumpkin just wouldn’t be cut into. So that one wound up getting set outside without any kind of work being done on it. This year, though, we had the strangest pumpkin of all. First of all, it was pretty big (Katie let Connor pick out the biggest one he could find), but the strange thing was when I cut it open and started scooping it out, I discovered… attached to the lid I’d just removed… are you ready for this… a pumpkin plant that was growing inside the pumpkin! Needless to say, I was taken aback, and I immediately exclaimed, “This freaky mutant pumpkin has a pumpkin growing inside it.” I mean, that’s like if a person was growing inside another person. Can you imagine such a thing? Anyway, Katie wasn’t particularly impressed (maybe because she’s actually had people growing inside her) but Carrie and Connor both thought it was pretty cool, especially when we found about six other little pumpkin plants growing inside the pumpkin.
Let the Games Begin
Our kitchen is now officially “under construction,” the first step being the eradication of any and all mold lingering in the walls as a result of our leaky pipe under our sink. So they came out and tore out one side of the kitchen, including the sink, the cabinets, the counter, etc. and did whatever it is they do to get rid of the bad stuff, and when I got home, it looked like that scene from E.T., the Extra-Terrestrial when the military guys put up the plastic tent and freak Elliot and E.T. out by acting all paranoid about infectious alien diseases, because the kitchen is completely wrapped up in plastic, and there’s some kind of really loud device whooshing away inside the wrapping (don’t know what it is, but I’m assuming it’s some kind of mold-killer – apparently mold doesn’t like really loud whooshing sounds - neither does Connor - hmm.). So we’ve got dishes scattered hither and yon, a dishwasher and range wrapped up in plastic and stored in our entryway, a bunch of food stacked on the one remaining counter, all of which adds up to a pretty big mess and the realization of how much you miss you’re kitchen sink when it’s taken away from you. There’s no telling how long this whole thing is going to stretch out, but I’m guessing it’s going to be right around 6 weeks before we get things back to normal and have the whole project done. And so it begins.
Cookie Update
So if you read last week’s entry, you might remember the whole Halloween cookie fiasco. Well, it actually got worse. I brought my cookies to school and set them out for the luncheon, and when I swung by about ten minutes later, I saw that someone else had gone to the store and bought – can you see this one coming – several dozen pumpkin-shaped sugar cookies. And these ones had orange and green sugar on them, so they looked like real pumpkins. Needless to say, only a couple of my cookies got eaten, and I’m pretty sure those were eaten out of pity by the kind of people who buy the most pitiful looking Christmas tree on the lot because they feel sorry for it. So I wound up taking the majority of the cookies back home, which was actually okay, because they were welcomed back with open arms by my wife and children.
That’s all for this edition, so until next time, may your pumpkins remain on the vine, may your mold remain mildew-free, and may your cookies remain crispy (unless you like them chewy).
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Humble Pie, Metallic Elements, and Halloween Cookies
No Good Deed Goes Unpunished
So I finished up my swim the other morning, showered off, and then hopped into my car, eager, as usual, to get to work (just can’t wait to start another day of educating 150ish eager young middle schoolers). As I started to pull out of my parking space, this guy stopped his car right behind me. Then he opened his door and got out. I was thinking, “What the heck is this guy doing?” in an irritated, I’m-in-a-hurry-here kind of way, so I beeped my horn at him in my irritation. Next, he knocked on my window, and I’m wondering, what the heck is up with this guy, but when I roll down my window, he hands me the water bottle that I had set on my car and forgotten about. “Thanks,” I mumbled sheepishly, feeling like a complete and total jerk. Here’s some random guy who goes out of his way to help me out, and I beep my horn at him. Definitely not my finest moment.
Half an Ironman is Better than None
Anyone who knows my lovely wife, Katie, probably also knows that she’s been working hard for the past few months training for a half ironman. If you’re not “in the know” this event consists of a 1.2-mile swim, followed by a 56-mile bike ride and a 13.1-mile run, which, as you might imagine, presents quite a challenge. Anyway, she was very excited to complete her event last weekend and become an official “Half-Ironman.” I think it’s pretty cool, too, though I have to say that I’m not all that impressed with the title of “Half-Ironman.” After all, when I completed a sprint triathlon (which was essentially ¼ of what she did) I got to be a “Tinfoilman,” which I think is a pretty cool thing to be (as opposed to a “One-Eighth-Ironman, which just sounds kind of lame). Since Katie has now done this event, I’m tempted to sign up for one myself, but I’d like to be known as something better-sounding than a “Half-Ironman” so I come up with a list of possibilities, which include, in no particular order: Leadman (sounds kind of slow and heavy), Nickelman, Manganeseman, Copperman (kind of cool for AZ), Zincman, Molybdenumman (try to say that fast three times in a row), Silverman (too sleek?), Cadmiumman, Tungstenman, Platinumman (probably too much), Mercuryman (definitely too fast for me), Uraniumman (too radioactive), and Plutoniumman (ditto). I’m not sure which one I like the best, but several sound better than “Half-Ironman” – at least to me.
Kitchen Nightmares
Every once in awhile, we have a “staff lunch” at school where one of the teams is supposed to bring in food for everyone else. Personally, I kind of hate the whole idea, because it’s a hassle when I have to bring in food, and when I don’t bring in food, I don’t really like to eat what’s brought in, partly because we don’t eat until 12:45 or so and I can’t make it that long without food, and partly because you never know what’s going to be brought in, and it’s often kind of a mish-mash of random selections, so who knows what you’re going to get, and though I’m not all that particular about what I eat (really, I swear I’m not) I do ride my bike home from work, and eating a bunch of random food right before a workout just isn’t a good idea – for a variety of reasons that I really don’t need to get into. So I generally abstain. Anyway, this week was our team’s assigned week, so I figured I’d pull a fast one by volunteering to bring in the paper plates, bowls, napkins, etc. since all that involves is making some purchases (and as it turned out, it didn’t involve even that since we have a whole bunch of surplus stuff in the office that’s up for grabs, so all I really had to do was go and get it together (although there was some grumbling about the fact that the paper products were plain white and didn’t really have a proper “holiday/Halloween motif” which some people actually care about – not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it’s so far away from anything remotely important to me that I have a hard time relating) but then that wound up not getting me off the hook after all, because someone decided we didn’t have enough desserts for everyone, so since I wasn’t really bringing anything in, I was “volunteered” to bring in Halloween cookies, and I didn’t really feel like I could refuse, so I agreed to do so. Which left me in a bit of a quandary, because I don’t really like to make cookies (I leave that to Katie and Connor – both of whom enjoy cookie-baking immensely) plus, I really didn’t want to have to make a trip to the store to get cookie ingredients. Which meant that I would need to make sugar cookies, since we had all the ingredients already. Now I don’t particularly like sugar cookies, but I wasn’t going to eat them anyway, so that was acceptable, but who knew making sugar cookies could turn out to be such a hassle? It wasn’t that bad doing the whole “mixing of the ingredients” steps, but when I got to the part where I actually had to make the cookies, the whole rolling out the dough, and using the jack o’lantern cutter-outer, and spatulaing the cookies up and onto the sheet, and cooking the cookies till they were done parts were actually kind of tricky. Yes, I used flour to coat everything (after Katie took pity on my pitiful first attempts at rolling out) but the dough still tended to stick to everything it touched, so I was fuming and complaining, and Katie and the kids were mocking and laughing, and I continued to fume and complain, and it took way too much time and effort to wind up with a couple of batches of pretty pitiful looking pumpkin-shaped sugar cookies that probably won’t even get eaten. And if it turns out that they sit on the table and nobody takes any, I’m going to feel really bad – like really, really bad – like total failure bad - so I’m hoping people take pity on the pitiful pumpkins and eat a few so I don’t feel like a complete and utter failure.
That’s all for this edition, so until next time, may your random acts be kind, may your cookie dough cooperate, and may your mercury remain safely enclosed in whatever thermometer you might have hanging around.
So I finished up my swim the other morning, showered off, and then hopped into my car, eager, as usual, to get to work (just can’t wait to start another day of educating 150ish eager young middle schoolers). As I started to pull out of my parking space, this guy stopped his car right behind me. Then he opened his door and got out. I was thinking, “What the heck is this guy doing?” in an irritated, I’m-in-a-hurry-here kind of way, so I beeped my horn at him in my irritation. Next, he knocked on my window, and I’m wondering, what the heck is up with this guy, but when I roll down my window, he hands me the water bottle that I had set on my car and forgotten about. “Thanks,” I mumbled sheepishly, feeling like a complete and total jerk. Here’s some random guy who goes out of his way to help me out, and I beep my horn at him. Definitely not my finest moment.
Half an Ironman is Better than None
Anyone who knows my lovely wife, Katie, probably also knows that she’s been working hard for the past few months training for a half ironman. If you’re not “in the know” this event consists of a 1.2-mile swim, followed by a 56-mile bike ride and a 13.1-mile run, which, as you might imagine, presents quite a challenge. Anyway, she was very excited to complete her event last weekend and become an official “Half-Ironman.” I think it’s pretty cool, too, though I have to say that I’m not all that impressed with the title of “Half-Ironman.” After all, when I completed a sprint triathlon (which was essentially ¼ of what she did) I got to be a “Tinfoilman,” which I think is a pretty cool thing to be (as opposed to a “One-Eighth-Ironman, which just sounds kind of lame). Since Katie has now done this event, I’m tempted to sign up for one myself, but I’d like to be known as something better-sounding than a “Half-Ironman” so I come up with a list of possibilities, which include, in no particular order: Leadman (sounds kind of slow and heavy), Nickelman, Manganeseman, Copperman (kind of cool for AZ), Zincman, Molybdenumman (try to say that fast three times in a row), Silverman (too sleek?), Cadmiumman, Tungstenman, Platinumman (probably too much), Mercuryman (definitely too fast for me), Uraniumman (too radioactive), and Plutoniumman (ditto). I’m not sure which one I like the best, but several sound better than “Half-Ironman” – at least to me.
Kitchen Nightmares
Every once in awhile, we have a “staff lunch” at school where one of the teams is supposed to bring in food for everyone else. Personally, I kind of hate the whole idea, because it’s a hassle when I have to bring in food, and when I don’t bring in food, I don’t really like to eat what’s brought in, partly because we don’t eat until 12:45 or so and I can’t make it that long without food, and partly because you never know what’s going to be brought in, and it’s often kind of a mish-mash of random selections, so who knows what you’re going to get, and though I’m not all that particular about what I eat (really, I swear I’m not) I do ride my bike home from work, and eating a bunch of random food right before a workout just isn’t a good idea – for a variety of reasons that I really don’t need to get into. So I generally abstain. Anyway, this week was our team’s assigned week, so I figured I’d pull a fast one by volunteering to bring in the paper plates, bowls, napkins, etc. since all that involves is making some purchases (and as it turned out, it didn’t involve even that since we have a whole bunch of surplus stuff in the office that’s up for grabs, so all I really had to do was go and get it together (although there was some grumbling about the fact that the paper products were plain white and didn’t really have a proper “holiday/Halloween motif” which some people actually care about – not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it’s so far away from anything remotely important to me that I have a hard time relating) but then that wound up not getting me off the hook after all, because someone decided we didn’t have enough desserts for everyone, so since I wasn’t really bringing anything in, I was “volunteered” to bring in Halloween cookies, and I didn’t really feel like I could refuse, so I agreed to do so. Which left me in a bit of a quandary, because I don’t really like to make cookies (I leave that to Katie and Connor – both of whom enjoy cookie-baking immensely) plus, I really didn’t want to have to make a trip to the store to get cookie ingredients. Which meant that I would need to make sugar cookies, since we had all the ingredients already. Now I don’t particularly like sugar cookies, but I wasn’t going to eat them anyway, so that was acceptable, but who knew making sugar cookies could turn out to be such a hassle? It wasn’t that bad doing the whole “mixing of the ingredients” steps, but when I got to the part where I actually had to make the cookies, the whole rolling out the dough, and using the jack o’lantern cutter-outer, and spatulaing the cookies up and onto the sheet, and cooking the cookies till they were done parts were actually kind of tricky. Yes, I used flour to coat everything (after Katie took pity on my pitiful first attempts at rolling out) but the dough still tended to stick to everything it touched, so I was fuming and complaining, and Katie and the kids were mocking and laughing, and I continued to fume and complain, and it took way too much time and effort to wind up with a couple of batches of pretty pitiful looking pumpkin-shaped sugar cookies that probably won’t even get eaten. And if it turns out that they sit on the table and nobody takes any, I’m going to feel really bad – like really, really bad – like total failure bad - so I’m hoping people take pity on the pitiful pumpkins and eat a few so I don’t feel like a complete and utter failure.
That’s all for this edition, so until next time, may your random acts be kind, may your cookie dough cooperate, and may your mercury remain safely enclosed in whatever thermometer you might have hanging around.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Rodents, Mold, and a Really Big Mountain
It’s been a really, really long time since the last posting, and I have absolutely no excuse, so without further ado, here we go…
Think Snakes on a Plane” was scary? How about Gerbils in the Bedroom?
Connor has two gerbils that he loves dearly (and to his credit, he takes really good care of them). Unfortunately, these two little rascals (Snake-eyes and Stormtrooper) managed to escape from their cage this week. Apparently, there was just the tiniest bit of a gap in the seam of their cage, and they managed to squeeze their way out so they could embark upon a little adventure. We didn’t discover they were missing from their cage until Katie and I were getting ready for bed and she exclaimed, “There’s a mouse!” which made me laugh (not exactly sure why), and she repeated, “There’s a mouse that just went under our bed!” which made me laugh even harder (really, I don’t know why I found this amusing) and then she got down on hands and knees to see if she could see the mouse, and then she thought, wait a minute, maybe it isn’t a mouse, maybe it’s a gerbil, so she went to check on Connor’s gerbils, and sure enough, the gerbils were missing from their cage and it was actually one of them she saw and now a mouse at all (not sure if it was Snake-bite or Thunderstorm). So Connor and Katie and I spread out around the bed and started poking and prodding and grasping as we attempted to capture the gerbil, who was running here and there, and darting in and out, until finally, Katie managed to grab her by the tail and returned her to the cage. Which left us with one gerbil still on the lam. We searched the house high and low, but no luck, so we all went to bed. Unfortunately, the gerbil was in our bedroom, and since gerbils are nocturnal, we spent the rest of the night listening to the gerbil skitter and gnaw and do who-knows-what-else that gerbils do at night when we’re all trying to sleep. Meanwhile, the cat also heard the gerbil skittering and gnawing and who-knows-what-elseing, so she spent a good portion of the night knocking on our door asking to be let in so she could have a little midnight snack. It got so bad that sometime around 4 a.m., Katie finally gave in and let the cat in – she didn’t ever catch the gerbil, but she did meow a lot. Needless to say, neither one of us got much sleep that night. Fortunately, Katie managed to capture the gerbil the next morning when it tried to join her in the shower and she was then able to chase it around the toilet and into a well-placed Trader Joe’s bag. So I guess all’s well that ends well.
Leaky Faucets
A couple of weeks ago, we decided to replace our very old, very loud, no-longer-functioning-effectively dishwasher. Unfortunately, when the guy went to put it in, he discovered that the drainage pipe under our sink was leaking, and the walls and cabinets were soaking wet. So we called a plumber, who fixed the pipe, but he discovered that the soaking walls/cabinets were infested with mold. So now we’re in the process of figuring out what to do and how much insurance will cover and all that fun stuff. The good news is that it looks like this might be a good excuse for Katie to finally get the kitchen update she’s been hoping for. The bad news is that it looks like this might be a good excuse for Katie to finally get the kitchen update she’s been hoping for. I guess it’s all a matter of perspective.
World’s Toughest Road Marathon
That’s how they billed the inaugural Mt. Lemmon Marathon that was held last weekend. 26.2 miles starting at the bottom of the mountain, just past mile marker zero on the Mt. Lemmon Highway, and continuing up, up and away (from 3,000 feet to around 8,500) all the way to Summerhaven (with a little bit of an out-and-back at the end thrown in for good measure. After completing the event, I’m going to have to say that it was definitely the hardest marathon I’ve ever done. I hung in pretty well through the first 15 miles or so, but once we hit the 7,000 foot mark, I started finding it very difficult to breathe. And the hills just kept on coming. So I did a lot of walking up the hills (at a pretty decent clip, though) and ran when I could on any downhill portions (there actually are a couple of these close to the end – thank goodness). All in all, though, it was a great day. The weather was perfect, the views were spectacular, I managed to finish in under 5 ½ hours, and my lovely wife was waiting for me at the top when I finally rolled in. I don’t know if I’ll do the full again next year, but I’ll be sorely tempted to come back and try the half (starting at Windy Point) to see how I can do on that.
That’s all for this edition, so until next time, may your rodents remain securely secured, may your mold remain mildew-free, and may your mountains remain molehills.
Think Snakes on a Plane” was scary? How about Gerbils in the Bedroom?
Connor has two gerbils that he loves dearly (and to his credit, he takes really good care of them). Unfortunately, these two little rascals (Snake-eyes and Stormtrooper) managed to escape from their cage this week. Apparently, there was just the tiniest bit of a gap in the seam of their cage, and they managed to squeeze their way out so they could embark upon a little adventure. We didn’t discover they were missing from their cage until Katie and I were getting ready for bed and she exclaimed, “There’s a mouse!” which made me laugh (not exactly sure why), and she repeated, “There’s a mouse that just went under our bed!” which made me laugh even harder (really, I don’t know why I found this amusing) and then she got down on hands and knees to see if she could see the mouse, and then she thought, wait a minute, maybe it isn’t a mouse, maybe it’s a gerbil, so she went to check on Connor’s gerbils, and sure enough, the gerbils were missing from their cage and it was actually one of them she saw and now a mouse at all (not sure if it was Snake-bite or Thunderstorm). So Connor and Katie and I spread out around the bed and started poking and prodding and grasping as we attempted to capture the gerbil, who was running here and there, and darting in and out, until finally, Katie managed to grab her by the tail and returned her to the cage. Which left us with one gerbil still on the lam. We searched the house high and low, but no luck, so we all went to bed. Unfortunately, the gerbil was in our bedroom, and since gerbils are nocturnal, we spent the rest of the night listening to the gerbil skitter and gnaw and do who-knows-what-else that gerbils do at night when we’re all trying to sleep. Meanwhile, the cat also heard the gerbil skittering and gnawing and who-knows-what-elseing, so she spent a good portion of the night knocking on our door asking to be let in so she could have a little midnight snack. It got so bad that sometime around 4 a.m., Katie finally gave in and let the cat in – she didn’t ever catch the gerbil, but she did meow a lot. Needless to say, neither one of us got much sleep that night. Fortunately, Katie managed to capture the gerbil the next morning when it tried to join her in the shower and she was then able to chase it around the toilet and into a well-placed Trader Joe’s bag. So I guess all’s well that ends well.
Leaky Faucets
A couple of weeks ago, we decided to replace our very old, very loud, no-longer-functioning-effectively dishwasher. Unfortunately, when the guy went to put it in, he discovered that the drainage pipe under our sink was leaking, and the walls and cabinets were soaking wet. So we called a plumber, who fixed the pipe, but he discovered that the soaking walls/cabinets were infested with mold. So now we’re in the process of figuring out what to do and how much insurance will cover and all that fun stuff. The good news is that it looks like this might be a good excuse for Katie to finally get the kitchen update she’s been hoping for. The bad news is that it looks like this might be a good excuse for Katie to finally get the kitchen update she’s been hoping for. I guess it’s all a matter of perspective.
World’s Toughest Road Marathon
That’s how they billed the inaugural Mt. Lemmon Marathon that was held last weekend. 26.2 miles starting at the bottom of the mountain, just past mile marker zero on the Mt. Lemmon Highway, and continuing up, up and away (from 3,000 feet to around 8,500) all the way to Summerhaven (with a little bit of an out-and-back at the end thrown in for good measure. After completing the event, I’m going to have to say that it was definitely the hardest marathon I’ve ever done. I hung in pretty well through the first 15 miles or so, but once we hit the 7,000 foot mark, I started finding it very difficult to breathe. And the hills just kept on coming. So I did a lot of walking up the hills (at a pretty decent clip, though) and ran when I could on any downhill portions (there actually are a couple of these close to the end – thank goodness). All in all, though, it was a great day. The weather was perfect, the views were spectacular, I managed to finish in under 5 ½ hours, and my lovely wife was waiting for me at the top when I finally rolled in. I don’t know if I’ll do the full again next year, but I’ll be sorely tempted to come back and try the half (starting at Windy Point) to see how I can do on that.
That’s all for this edition, so until next time, may your rodents remain securely secured, may your mold remain mildew-free, and may your mountains remain molehills.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Hills, Thermostats, and Coincidences
Run Like the Wind…
That was the name of the 10k race I ran last Saturday in beautiful Allenspark, CO (elevation 8,504 feet). Let's just say I didn't exactly "run like the wind," unless the wind was a really slow and tired wind that huffed and puffed up all kind of hills (and there were a lot of hills). But I did finish in under an hour and wound up in 12th place (of course, there were only 36 participants). And I got - yet another - t-shirt for the collection.
Speaking of Colorado…
We just got back from 3 1/2 beautiful weeks in the Rocky Mountains. Weather was mostly in the 70's and 80's, though we did have a couple of cold and rainy days. Lots of beautiful hiking, and lots and lots of hill training at high elevation to help try to get ready for Mt. Lemmon. Also watched almost all of "The Sopranos" episodes (still have one season to go), finally got around to reading the Stieg Larsson trilogy (liked the Lisbeth Salander character, didn't care so much for the Mikael Blomkvist character - seriously, how many girls can fall in love with a dopey guy like that?), and saw a moose and several deer. All in all, it was a beautiful and relaxing couple of weeks. So we drove back to Tucson on Monday, which was an all-day, 14-hour affair, pulled up at the house, and all I wanted to do was order a pizza and crash on my couch. But no, that was not to be, because for whatever reason, our thermostat was on the blink and said it was 35 degrees in the house (it was more like 100). So I messed around with the thermostat, and tried to call the toll-free number (no one was answering) and checked on-line for solutions, and messed around with it some more, and cursed and sweated quite a bit, but nothing worked. So we finally gave up, went to Applebee's for dinner, and drove across town to Katie's parent's house, where we spent the night. That night, there was a big storm and power went out in our neighborhood for several hours, which must have somehow reset the thermostat in some magical and mysterious way, because when we came back home the next morning, the thermostat was working and the AC went right on, and it's been working ever since. So I guess all's well that ends well. And I'm not sure there's anything that's quite as nice as a working air conditioning unit in July in Tucson.
Another note on CO
This just in from the "it's a small world department." While on vacation, we spent a weekend with our friends Alan and Val in Vail/Avon who took us river rafting through Glenwood Canyon (brought back lots of memories of summer camp days) and then for a hike in the Holy Cross Wilderness area the next day. To get to the trailhead, we had to drive a couple of hours, including about 10 miles on a fairly rough dirt road. So we were pretty much in the middle of nowhere. So we set off on our hike, and about halfway up the trail, we passed a group of hikers coming down, and one of the guys saw Katie's TNT jersey and asked where we were from, and when she told him Tucson, he said, "Hey, do you happen to know Rick?" to which I said that I did and that I coached with him, and it turned out that he was Rick's best friend's brother. So he snapped a picture of us with his phone and sent it to Rick to freak him out. Pretty strange stuff.
Training Update
In addition to ramping things up to get ready for the epic climb of Mt. Lemmon (which I continue to have serious doubts about, but remain committed to) we're getting ready to kick off another TNT season in about a week. We've got a fairly big group signed up already for the Phoenix marathon and half-marathon, with lots of alumni, so it should be yet another great season.
That's all for this edition, so until next time, may your world remain manageable, may your hills remain climbable, and may the wind remain beneath your wings.
That was the name of the 10k race I ran last Saturday in beautiful Allenspark, CO (elevation 8,504 feet). Let's just say I didn't exactly "run like the wind," unless the wind was a really slow and tired wind that huffed and puffed up all kind of hills (and there were a lot of hills). But I did finish in under an hour and wound up in 12th place (of course, there were only 36 participants). And I got - yet another - t-shirt for the collection.
Speaking of Colorado…
We just got back from 3 1/2 beautiful weeks in the Rocky Mountains. Weather was mostly in the 70's and 80's, though we did have a couple of cold and rainy days. Lots of beautiful hiking, and lots and lots of hill training at high elevation to help try to get ready for Mt. Lemmon. Also watched almost all of "The Sopranos" episodes (still have one season to go), finally got around to reading the Stieg Larsson trilogy (liked the Lisbeth Salander character, didn't care so much for the Mikael Blomkvist character - seriously, how many girls can fall in love with a dopey guy like that?), and saw a moose and several deer. All in all, it was a beautiful and relaxing couple of weeks. So we drove back to Tucson on Monday, which was an all-day, 14-hour affair, pulled up at the house, and all I wanted to do was order a pizza and crash on my couch. But no, that was not to be, because for whatever reason, our thermostat was on the blink and said it was 35 degrees in the house (it was more like 100). So I messed around with the thermostat, and tried to call the toll-free number (no one was answering) and checked on-line for solutions, and messed around with it some more, and cursed and sweated quite a bit, but nothing worked. So we finally gave up, went to Applebee's for dinner, and drove across town to Katie's parent's house, where we spent the night. That night, there was a big storm and power went out in our neighborhood for several hours, which must have somehow reset the thermostat in some magical and mysterious way, because when we came back home the next morning, the thermostat was working and the AC went right on, and it's been working ever since. So I guess all's well that ends well. And I'm not sure there's anything that's quite as nice as a working air conditioning unit in July in Tucson.
Another note on CO
This just in from the "it's a small world department." While on vacation, we spent a weekend with our friends Alan and Val in Vail/Avon who took us river rafting through Glenwood Canyon (brought back lots of memories of summer camp days) and then for a hike in the Holy Cross Wilderness area the next day. To get to the trailhead, we had to drive a couple of hours, including about 10 miles on a fairly rough dirt road. So we were pretty much in the middle of nowhere. So we set off on our hike, and about halfway up the trail, we passed a group of hikers coming down, and one of the guys saw Katie's TNT jersey and asked where we were from, and when she told him Tucson, he said, "Hey, do you happen to know Rick?" to which I said that I did and that I coached with him, and it turned out that he was Rick's best friend's brother. So he snapped a picture of us with his phone and sent it to Rick to freak him out. Pretty strange stuff.
Training Update
In addition to ramping things up to get ready for the epic climb of Mt. Lemmon (which I continue to have serious doubts about, but remain committed to) we're getting ready to kick off another TNT season in about a week. We've got a fairly big group signed up already for the Phoenix marathon and half-marathon, with lots of alumni, so it should be yet another great season.
That's all for this edition, so until next time, may your world remain manageable, may your hills remain climbable, and may the wind remain beneath your wings.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Radio, Swimming, and Dangerous Addictions
Radiohead
After three weeks of building nine sets of storage units in the garage, I've had more than my fill of the local radio stations and I've come to the following conclusions. First, they all claim that they don't repeat the same songs, but that is a lie. Second, they all claim that they play more music and have fewer commercials, and that is also a lie. Third, they all lie. And fourth, I am really, really sick of Dave Aufmuth, and even if I ever decide to buy a used car, the one place I'm not going, just because his commercials are so annoying, is Aufmuth motors. But the good news is the storage units are finished and ready to be delivered (which is today's task of the day).
Swimming in Patagonia
On numerous and sundry occasions, Katie has told me that I should go jump in a lake (not because - perish the thought - she found me exasperating, but because she thinks I should experience an "open-water swim" and be a part of the group of people who have done "open-water swims, which apparently, is a pretty cool group to be a part of). So this past Monday, we drove to Patagonia (along with several of her buds and Caitlyn and her boy) to swim in the lake. I was warned that I might panic when I got out into the lake, and that it might feel very strange not being able to see anything, but I actually kind of liked the whole thing. The water was comfortable temperature-wise, and it turned out to be pretty fun experience (plus, I'm now part of the "open-water swim" crew). When we arrived, there was a group of teenagers at the beach, and several people took note of the fact that there were "four girls in bikinis with one muscular guy" like that was notable for some reason, which I found slightly ironic since I was one (somewhat) muscular guy with four women in bikinis (and wetsuits) and no one seemed to take note of that. There's some kind of double standard at work here, but I'm not exactly sure what it is or what it might mean. I'll leave that to you to figure out.
Speaking of interpretations…
I've been having really, really strange dreams lately, all of which I remember until I fall back asleep and then can't remember when I wake up, which is pretty frustrating. I do recall that several have involved people from my "distant" past in strange and unusual settings but that's about all I got. Which makes me wonder why I even brought it up.
Speaking of sleep…
This is a very loose connection, but I couldn't think of another way to introduce the subject of caffeine, so this will have to do. As you may or may not know, caffeine is a drug, and as you also may or may not know, many people are addicted to this drug, and if they don't get their daily fix, they exhibit withdrawal symptoms such as irritability and headaches. This has happened to my wife on several occasions this summer when she's gotten busy doing her swimming/running/cycling and forgotten her morning cup o' joe. One piece of advice - it's not generally a good idea to tell someone they're an "addict" and they're suffering from "withdrawal" when they've got a headache and are feeling irritable. They tend to get a little testy.
Short post for now because I've got to head out and deliver storage units, so until next time may your reception remain clear, may your water remain temperate, and may your addictions remain manageable.
After three weeks of building nine sets of storage units in the garage, I've had more than my fill of the local radio stations and I've come to the following conclusions. First, they all claim that they don't repeat the same songs, but that is a lie. Second, they all claim that they play more music and have fewer commercials, and that is also a lie. Third, they all lie. And fourth, I am really, really sick of Dave Aufmuth, and even if I ever decide to buy a used car, the one place I'm not going, just because his commercials are so annoying, is Aufmuth motors. But the good news is the storage units are finished and ready to be delivered (which is today's task of the day).
Swimming in Patagonia
On numerous and sundry occasions, Katie has told me that I should go jump in a lake (not because - perish the thought - she found me exasperating, but because she thinks I should experience an "open-water swim" and be a part of the group of people who have done "open-water swims, which apparently, is a pretty cool group to be a part of). So this past Monday, we drove to Patagonia (along with several of her buds and Caitlyn and her boy) to swim in the lake. I was warned that I might panic when I got out into the lake, and that it might feel very strange not being able to see anything, but I actually kind of liked the whole thing. The water was comfortable temperature-wise, and it turned out to be pretty fun experience (plus, I'm now part of the "open-water swim" crew). When we arrived, there was a group of teenagers at the beach, and several people took note of the fact that there were "four girls in bikinis with one muscular guy" like that was notable for some reason, which I found slightly ironic since I was one (somewhat) muscular guy with four women in bikinis (and wetsuits) and no one seemed to take note of that. There's some kind of double standard at work here, but I'm not exactly sure what it is or what it might mean. I'll leave that to you to figure out.
Speaking of interpretations…
I've been having really, really strange dreams lately, all of which I remember until I fall back asleep and then can't remember when I wake up, which is pretty frustrating. I do recall that several have involved people from my "distant" past in strange and unusual settings but that's about all I got. Which makes me wonder why I even brought it up.
Speaking of sleep…
This is a very loose connection, but I couldn't think of another way to introduce the subject of caffeine, so this will have to do. As you may or may not know, caffeine is a drug, and as you also may or may not know, many people are addicted to this drug, and if they don't get their daily fix, they exhibit withdrawal symptoms such as irritability and headaches. This has happened to my wife on several occasions this summer when she's gotten busy doing her swimming/running/cycling and forgotten her morning cup o' joe. One piece of advice - it's not generally a good idea to tell someone they're an "addict" and they're suffering from "withdrawal" when they've got a headache and are feeling irritable. They tend to get a little testy.
Short post for now because I've got to head out and deliver storage units, so until next time may your reception remain clear, may your water remain temperate, and may your addictions remain manageable.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Marathons, Sawdust and Algae
San Diego
It's been a busy couple of weeks, even though school is out and I'm on "vacation." We took our TNT group to San Diego for the marathon (and half-marathon), which turned out to be a great trip. Everyone on the team did really well, even though it was pretty hot. That's right, a group of runners from Tucson thought it was hot in San Diego, even though the high was only in the low 70's and back home it was over 105˚ (but it was a humid heat - in San Diego, not Tucson - in Tucson it was a dry heat). I guess it was actually pretty warm, because there seemed to be an unusually large number of ambulances out on the course picking up people who had bonked, but all of our folks (thanks, of course, to some seriously magnificent coaching and preparation) managed to finish in fairly good shape (a few blisters, some dehydration, and a little bit of heat stroke, but otherwise okay). I did, for the first time in my coaching career, have to literally drag one guy the last half mile of the course to get him to the finish line. I spotted him as I was heading back onto the course from the finish area, and he was clearly in the loopy zone - as in ready to collapse - and I caught him just before he keeled over. He would walk with me for awhile, but then he kept trying to run and almost collapsing, and I kept pulling him back and telling him we were walking the rest of the way, and he kept saying, "I need to run," and I kept saying, "You need to walk," especially when he told me he was seeing white spots and asked me for the third time if we'd crossed the finish line yet ("No, dude, it's just a little farther," I told him every time). Anyway, he wound up in the medical tent getting an IV and being cooled down with cold towels. One thing that always strikes me is how different coaching a marathon is from running one (coaching, for the record, is much easier). I may put in more miles (32 at this particular event) but I don't run the entire course and there's a lot of slow running and walking to break up the time. This time, I ran back and forth between miles 5-9, which was looping through downtown San Diego, for the first couple of hours, then hopped on a train to get near the finish area (right next to Sea World) and spent the rest of the time running people in from around mile 24, which was on Fiesta Island (which, by the way, is really poorly named, because there's not really anything "fiesta-ish" about it - it's pretty much a completely barren island with a road going around it - apparently people camp there - I don't know why). Actually, running our participants into the finish area is probably my favorite part of the gig - I love being there when people (especially first-timers) reach the point when they realize they're actually going to make it to the finish line. For some of them, this is around mile 25, for others it's about 1/2 a mile from the finish, and a few aren't exactly sure they're going to make it until they're within spitting distance. But it's a pretty cool thing to witness. And now we're getting ramped up to start the new PF Chang season (Phoenix) and I've got to start getting ready for the Mt. Lemmon marathon (nothing like a little 6,000 foot elevation gain over 26.2 miles - but I got a really cool training shirt for signing up).
Speaking of vacation
It's nice not having to go to work and all, but I'm still pretty busy making some furniture for a group of teachers. Some people (my wife among them) refer to these as "cubbies" but I just can't seem to say that word, so I always call them "storage units." For some reason, I just can't bring myself to tell anyone that I'm making "cubbies." I'll see one of my neighbors, and they'll say, "Whatcha making in your garage?" and I can't say, "Cubbies," because that would just sound silly. It's much more manly and impressive to be building "storage units" than "cubbies" (just goes to show the power of a name). Anyway, I've created a whole lot of sawdust and sweated through a week-and-a-half of hot afternoons in the garage, and I'm currently about halfway done with the project.
Die, Algae, Die
For the past couple of summers, I've been battling the algae monster in our swimming pool. I treat the pool and get rid of the algae for several days, but the algae always comes back. I've tried lots of different things and have gotten lots of advice and spent a fair amount of money on various products, and whatever I try always seems to work for a little while, but then the algae comes back. It's never very bad, but it does add a definite green tinge to the water that just doesn't look right. But now, after lots of algaecide and lots of shock, the water is looking pretty darned good. I think I may have finally defeated it. The eternal optimist lives on.
Desert Blooms
One of the things I really love about the desert is all of the different flowers that come out in late spring and early summer. The ironwood trees are filled with purple flowers, our saguaros are still going strong, and this morning, I walked outside and saw a flower the size of my fist growing on a cactus that was about half that size. They don't last long, but they're really spectacular.
Okay, when I start writing about flowers, it's definitely time to wrap things up, so until next time may your eyes remain clear and bright, may your fiestas be festive, and may your vacations be restful and relaxing.
It's been a busy couple of weeks, even though school is out and I'm on "vacation." We took our TNT group to San Diego for the marathon (and half-marathon), which turned out to be a great trip. Everyone on the team did really well, even though it was pretty hot. That's right, a group of runners from Tucson thought it was hot in San Diego, even though the high was only in the low 70's and back home it was over 105˚ (but it was a humid heat - in San Diego, not Tucson - in Tucson it was a dry heat). I guess it was actually pretty warm, because there seemed to be an unusually large number of ambulances out on the course picking up people who had bonked, but all of our folks (thanks, of course, to some seriously magnificent coaching and preparation) managed to finish in fairly good shape (a few blisters, some dehydration, and a little bit of heat stroke, but otherwise okay). I did, for the first time in my coaching career, have to literally drag one guy the last half mile of the course to get him to the finish line. I spotted him as I was heading back onto the course from the finish area, and he was clearly in the loopy zone - as in ready to collapse - and I caught him just before he keeled over. He would walk with me for awhile, but then he kept trying to run and almost collapsing, and I kept pulling him back and telling him we were walking the rest of the way, and he kept saying, "I need to run," and I kept saying, "You need to walk," especially when he told me he was seeing white spots and asked me for the third time if we'd crossed the finish line yet ("No, dude, it's just a little farther," I told him every time). Anyway, he wound up in the medical tent getting an IV and being cooled down with cold towels. One thing that always strikes me is how different coaching a marathon is from running one (coaching, for the record, is much easier). I may put in more miles (32 at this particular event) but I don't run the entire course and there's a lot of slow running and walking to break up the time. This time, I ran back and forth between miles 5-9, which was looping through downtown San Diego, for the first couple of hours, then hopped on a train to get near the finish area (right next to Sea World) and spent the rest of the time running people in from around mile 24, which was on Fiesta Island (which, by the way, is really poorly named, because there's not really anything "fiesta-ish" about it - it's pretty much a completely barren island with a road going around it - apparently people camp there - I don't know why). Actually, running our participants into the finish area is probably my favorite part of the gig - I love being there when people (especially first-timers) reach the point when they realize they're actually going to make it to the finish line. For some of them, this is around mile 25, for others it's about 1/2 a mile from the finish, and a few aren't exactly sure they're going to make it until they're within spitting distance. But it's a pretty cool thing to witness. And now we're getting ramped up to start the new PF Chang season (Phoenix) and I've got to start getting ready for the Mt. Lemmon marathon (nothing like a little 6,000 foot elevation gain over 26.2 miles - but I got a really cool training shirt for signing up).
Speaking of vacation
It's nice not having to go to work and all, but I'm still pretty busy making some furniture for a group of teachers. Some people (my wife among them) refer to these as "cubbies" but I just can't seem to say that word, so I always call them "storage units." For some reason, I just can't bring myself to tell anyone that I'm making "cubbies." I'll see one of my neighbors, and they'll say, "Whatcha making in your garage?" and I can't say, "Cubbies," because that would just sound silly. It's much more manly and impressive to be building "storage units" than "cubbies" (just goes to show the power of a name). Anyway, I've created a whole lot of sawdust and sweated through a week-and-a-half of hot afternoons in the garage, and I'm currently about halfway done with the project.
Die, Algae, Die
For the past couple of summers, I've been battling the algae monster in our swimming pool. I treat the pool and get rid of the algae for several days, but the algae always comes back. I've tried lots of different things and have gotten lots of advice and spent a fair amount of money on various products, and whatever I try always seems to work for a little while, but then the algae comes back. It's never very bad, but it does add a definite green tinge to the water that just doesn't look right. But now, after lots of algaecide and lots of shock, the water is looking pretty darned good. I think I may have finally defeated it. The eternal optimist lives on.
Desert Blooms
One of the things I really love about the desert is all of the different flowers that come out in late spring and early summer. The ironwood trees are filled with purple flowers, our saguaros are still going strong, and this morning, I walked outside and saw a flower the size of my fist growing on a cactus that was about half that size. They don't last long, but they're really spectacular.
Okay, when I start writing about flowers, it's definitely time to wrap things up, so until next time may your eyes remain clear and bright, may your fiestas be festive, and may your vacations be restful and relaxing.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Bad Movies, Inventions, and Bristol Palin
If something is really, really bad, what do you call it?
The other evening, I was watching TV with my lovely daughter, Caitlyn (actually, Caitlyn was reading a book, texting, and watching TV at the same time - kids these days) and a commercial came on for a new movie starring some chubby guy with curly hair (not sure what his name is) and Caitlyn said something along the lines of, "That guy really bugs me," and I said, "What guy?" and she said, "That guy in this movie - he's really annoying and he was in this really bad movie," and I said, "What movie was that?" and she said, "I can't remember, but it was really, really bad," at which point, I was ready to let the whole thing go because I didn't care that much one way or the other (about the actor, the movie he was in before, or the movie he was going to be in) but Caitlyn's obsessive button had been pushed, so she had to go and get her computer so she could search for the actor's name and the name of his "really, really bad" movie, which turned out to be called - can you see this one coming - "Superbad." As in, the name of the really, really bad movie turned out to be Superbad, which is pretty ironic - or maybe not really ironic, but it was definitely mildly amusing.
Idea for a new invention
The other evening, I was watching the "American Idol" finale (are you noticing a pattern here?) and I came up with a great idea for a new invention - the "Mute Ryan Seacrest" button. When you push the button, it mutes everything Ryan says, so you don't have to listen to his annoying nonsense. "So now did you feel when you were singing that song? So how did you feel when the judges said you were terrible/great/mediocre/pitchy, dog?" I could probably make millions of dollars.
Peripheral viewing
The other evening, I was watching TV with everyone but Connor, who was doing something on the computer in the other room. But the thing is, even though Connor isn't watching TV, he still makes comments on everything that happens on the show - from the other room while he's doing something on the computer. I don't know why I'm writing about this, but it's kind of funny when you're sitting there and every once in awhile, Connor fires off some random comment from the other room (guess you had to be there).
This next one has nothing to do with TV
I happened to spot an article in the newspaper the other day that caught my eye. Apparently, Sarah Palin's daughter, Bristol is "hitting the speaker's circuit" and will be paid between $15,000 and $30,000 per appearance, with the price depending on "which group she's addressing and what she must do to prepare." There are so many things wrong with this, that I can't even begin to list all the things that are wrong with this. Seriously? Bristol Palin? Who would pay to hear her speak? For that matter, who would sit and listen to her speak - even if it was free? All I can say to this is, "Wow."
Last Days
Every year, students and teachers all across this great nation (and possibly the world) experience the last day of school for the year. For me, this day is always a little bittersweet. It's strange to spend so much time with a group of people, and then suddenly it's all over. I still remember sitting all alone in my classroom after my first year of teaching and feeling strangely empty. That feeling hasn't really changed much over the years - I guess that's probably a good thing, though.
That's all for this edition, so until next time, may your movies all be super-good, may your idols remain American, and may all your speakers command top dollar.
The other evening, I was watching TV with my lovely daughter, Caitlyn (actually, Caitlyn was reading a book, texting, and watching TV at the same time - kids these days) and a commercial came on for a new movie starring some chubby guy with curly hair (not sure what his name is) and Caitlyn said something along the lines of, "That guy really bugs me," and I said, "What guy?" and she said, "That guy in this movie - he's really annoying and he was in this really bad movie," and I said, "What movie was that?" and she said, "I can't remember, but it was really, really bad," at which point, I was ready to let the whole thing go because I didn't care that much one way or the other (about the actor, the movie he was in before, or the movie he was going to be in) but Caitlyn's obsessive button had been pushed, so she had to go and get her computer so she could search for the actor's name and the name of his "really, really bad" movie, which turned out to be called - can you see this one coming - "Superbad." As in, the name of the really, really bad movie turned out to be Superbad, which is pretty ironic - or maybe not really ironic, but it was definitely mildly amusing.
Idea for a new invention
The other evening, I was watching the "American Idol" finale (are you noticing a pattern here?) and I came up with a great idea for a new invention - the "Mute Ryan Seacrest" button. When you push the button, it mutes everything Ryan says, so you don't have to listen to his annoying nonsense. "So now did you feel when you were singing that song? So how did you feel when the judges said you were terrible/great/mediocre/pitchy, dog?" I could probably make millions of dollars.
Peripheral viewing
The other evening, I was watching TV with everyone but Connor, who was doing something on the computer in the other room. But the thing is, even though Connor isn't watching TV, he still makes comments on everything that happens on the show - from the other room while he's doing something on the computer. I don't know why I'm writing about this, but it's kind of funny when you're sitting there and every once in awhile, Connor fires off some random comment from the other room (guess you had to be there).
This next one has nothing to do with TV
I happened to spot an article in the newspaper the other day that caught my eye. Apparently, Sarah Palin's daughter, Bristol is "hitting the speaker's circuit" and will be paid between $15,000 and $30,000 per appearance, with the price depending on "which group she's addressing and what she must do to prepare." There are so many things wrong with this, that I can't even begin to list all the things that are wrong with this. Seriously? Bristol Palin? Who would pay to hear her speak? For that matter, who would sit and listen to her speak - even if it was free? All I can say to this is, "Wow."
Last Days
Every year, students and teachers all across this great nation (and possibly the world) experience the last day of school for the year. For me, this day is always a little bittersweet. It's strange to spend so much time with a group of people, and then suddenly it's all over. I still remember sitting all alone in my classroom after my first year of teaching and feeling strangely empty. That feeling hasn't really changed much over the years - I guess that's probably a good thing, though.
That's all for this edition, so until next time, may your movies all be super-good, may your idols remain American, and may all your speakers command top dollar.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
More Bees, Annoying Children, and an Empty Heart
Bad Day=Good Run
Last week, I had one of those days (actually, it was much worse for my lovely wife than for me, but I took a vow way back when, so when she suffers, I suffer). First, Katie found out that our adorable son is somehow managing to flunk P.E. (apparently, he hasn’t been finishing “The Ram” within the time limit). For those of you not in the know, “The Ram” is a 1-1/4 mile run that the kids at his school are supposed to do each week. And the time limit? That’s the kicker – it’s 24 minutes. Seriously? The kid can’t cover 1-1/4 miles in 24 minutes? I’m not even sure how it’s possible to go that slow – I mean, you would think he could crawl faster than that. So Katie went to school to talk to the P.E. teacher and see if there’s some way he can make it up, and in the course of their conversation, she burst into tears because this is just one of those final straws that’s broken the camel’s back (not to mention the whole irony thing here where both of his parents run marathons, and he can’t even cover 1-1/4 miles in 24 minutes – sheesh). Then, as she was leaving Cross and heading to her school, she got a phone call from our daughter who had nearly crashed the truck into a fire hydrant and/or a wall on her way to school because it (the truck) cut out on her just as she was turning a corner and she wasn’t able to steer/brake effectively. Luckily, she managed to avoid the wall and the fire hydrant, but it shook her up and Katie had to go rescue her and take the truck into the shop to find out why it suddenly cut out (vapor lock, apparently). I, on the other hand, was going along with my day, oblivious to all of this, until I got a message on my phone, which was Katie, who left a long and heart-wrenching message explaining all of the things that had happened, so I spent the rest of the day worrying about my son (the slacker), my daughter (the reluctant driver), my wife (the basket-case – justifiably so), and my truck (the clunker). Because I was feeling a little on edge when I got home from work, I went for a run. And I knew I was a little on edge, but I didn’t realize how much on edge I was until I finished my first mile (the “warm-up” mile) and looked down at my split and realized that I was running at a sub-8-minute pace. And I wasn’t even breathing hard. And it pretty much stayed that way for the whole run. I was knocking off the 8’s and sub-8’s without even trying. It was like I was running in a cloud. As a matter of fact, I did run into a cloud of sorts – a swarm of bees that I didn’t even notice until I was in the middle of it and they were buzzing all around me in a dust-devilish sort of way, so I kind of went, “Hey, I’m in the middle of a bee swarm,” but the bees didn’t seem to mind (or even notice) me, and I kept on running one way and they kept on swarming the other way and we went our separate ways (what is it with me and bee swarms – it’s kind of creepy). So I guess the takeaway from all this is whenever I enter a race, I need to have a really bad day right before (or maybe Katie has to have a bad day, then tell me all about it) cause I was seriously fast that afternoon (for me).
Speaking of my son…
I remember several years ago, I used to joke in a semi-serious way about what I was going to do when my daughters were both teenagers. I said something along the lines of, “When the girls are both teenagers, I’m going to take Connor and we’re going to go live in the woods.” Why would I say such a thing? you may be asking. I had this idea that when the girls were both teenagers, it was going to be pretty crazy, seeing as they were both going to be teenage girls, and my son would provide the point of sanity in my life. Oh, how wrong I was. I love the kid, but I don’t think I would last long in that situation (nor would he).
10/23
That’s the number of principals I’ve now worked for in the number of years I’ve been teaching. And I’m sure it’s significant in some highly significant way.
On a Serious Note
Twelve years old is too young to die. That’s all I could think when, on Monday morning, I opened up an e-mail and learned that one of my students had passed away in a tragic accident. There are certain kids who, for whatever reason, get under your skin (in a good way) and this was one of them. At the beginning of the year, he was kind of a slacker and didn’t seem to be putting much effort into things. It was obvious that he was smart, but he didn’t seem to be very engaged. I’ve always had a soft spot for this kind of kid – when you can tell there’s something there if only you’re able to find the key to get them motivated. And that’s what happened this past semester. I’m not exactly sure what it was or why it happened, but he turned things around and became one of the best (and definitely most prolific) writers in the class. He went from barely completing work to turning in lots and lots of extra pieces and going way above and beyond on projects. And all the time, it was obvious that he was enjoying himself – according to his parents, he was having the best year of his life. Which makes the empty feeling I have inside ache even more.
I ache for his siblings, for his parents, for his grandparents and great-grandmother (imagine attending a great-grandchild’s funeral) and for his friends. I ache for all the kids who knew him and who are struggling to understand what they’re feeling right now. And I ache for myself. For the loss of one of the kids that I know I reached. I take it for granted that the kids are going to return to my class everyday, and looking at that empty desk during 7th period is a stark reminder of how fleeting life can be. And yet, I can’t help but also be encouraged by these same kids who amaze me with their ability to deal with difficult circumstances - the compassion and support they show for one another when they’re hurting - the 7th grader who got up in front of everyone at the funeral and shared his experiences and his perspectives on what had happened, putting into words what just about everyone was feeling. I’ve said before how I feel like middle-school kids get a bad rap, and I feel it even more after the past couple of days. They really can be amazing if you give them half a chance.
Nothing more to report, so until next time, may your bee swarms stay far away, may children (if you have any) remain motivated, and may your moments of sorrow remain manageable.
Last week, I had one of those days (actually, it was much worse for my lovely wife than for me, but I took a vow way back when, so when she suffers, I suffer). First, Katie found out that our adorable son is somehow managing to flunk P.E. (apparently, he hasn’t been finishing “The Ram” within the time limit). For those of you not in the know, “The Ram” is a 1-1/4 mile run that the kids at his school are supposed to do each week. And the time limit? That’s the kicker – it’s 24 minutes. Seriously? The kid can’t cover 1-1/4 miles in 24 minutes? I’m not even sure how it’s possible to go that slow – I mean, you would think he could crawl faster than that. So Katie went to school to talk to the P.E. teacher and see if there’s some way he can make it up, and in the course of their conversation, she burst into tears because this is just one of those final straws that’s broken the camel’s back (not to mention the whole irony thing here where both of his parents run marathons, and he can’t even cover 1-1/4 miles in 24 minutes – sheesh). Then, as she was leaving Cross and heading to her school, she got a phone call from our daughter who had nearly crashed the truck into a fire hydrant and/or a wall on her way to school because it (the truck) cut out on her just as she was turning a corner and she wasn’t able to steer/brake effectively. Luckily, she managed to avoid the wall and the fire hydrant, but it shook her up and Katie had to go rescue her and take the truck into the shop to find out why it suddenly cut out (vapor lock, apparently). I, on the other hand, was going along with my day, oblivious to all of this, until I got a message on my phone, which was Katie, who left a long and heart-wrenching message explaining all of the things that had happened, so I spent the rest of the day worrying about my son (the slacker), my daughter (the reluctant driver), my wife (the basket-case – justifiably so), and my truck (the clunker). Because I was feeling a little on edge when I got home from work, I went for a run. And I knew I was a little on edge, but I didn’t realize how much on edge I was until I finished my first mile (the “warm-up” mile) and looked down at my split and realized that I was running at a sub-8-minute pace. And I wasn’t even breathing hard. And it pretty much stayed that way for the whole run. I was knocking off the 8’s and sub-8’s without even trying. It was like I was running in a cloud. As a matter of fact, I did run into a cloud of sorts – a swarm of bees that I didn’t even notice until I was in the middle of it and they were buzzing all around me in a dust-devilish sort of way, so I kind of went, “Hey, I’m in the middle of a bee swarm,” but the bees didn’t seem to mind (or even notice) me, and I kept on running one way and they kept on swarming the other way and we went our separate ways (what is it with me and bee swarms – it’s kind of creepy). So I guess the takeaway from all this is whenever I enter a race, I need to have a really bad day right before (or maybe Katie has to have a bad day, then tell me all about it) cause I was seriously fast that afternoon (for me).
Speaking of my son…
I remember several years ago, I used to joke in a semi-serious way about what I was going to do when my daughters were both teenagers. I said something along the lines of, “When the girls are both teenagers, I’m going to take Connor and we’re going to go live in the woods.” Why would I say such a thing? you may be asking. I had this idea that when the girls were both teenagers, it was going to be pretty crazy, seeing as they were both going to be teenage girls, and my son would provide the point of sanity in my life. Oh, how wrong I was. I love the kid, but I don’t think I would last long in that situation (nor would he).
10/23
That’s the number of principals I’ve now worked for in the number of years I’ve been teaching. And I’m sure it’s significant in some highly significant way.
On a Serious Note
Twelve years old is too young to die. That’s all I could think when, on Monday morning, I opened up an e-mail and learned that one of my students had passed away in a tragic accident. There are certain kids who, for whatever reason, get under your skin (in a good way) and this was one of them. At the beginning of the year, he was kind of a slacker and didn’t seem to be putting much effort into things. It was obvious that he was smart, but he didn’t seem to be very engaged. I’ve always had a soft spot for this kind of kid – when you can tell there’s something there if only you’re able to find the key to get them motivated. And that’s what happened this past semester. I’m not exactly sure what it was or why it happened, but he turned things around and became one of the best (and definitely most prolific) writers in the class. He went from barely completing work to turning in lots and lots of extra pieces and going way above and beyond on projects. And all the time, it was obvious that he was enjoying himself – according to his parents, he was having the best year of his life. Which makes the empty feeling I have inside ache even more.
I ache for his siblings, for his parents, for his grandparents and great-grandmother (imagine attending a great-grandchild’s funeral) and for his friends. I ache for all the kids who knew him and who are struggling to understand what they’re feeling right now. And I ache for myself. For the loss of one of the kids that I know I reached. I take it for granted that the kids are going to return to my class everyday, and looking at that empty desk during 7th period is a stark reminder of how fleeting life can be. And yet, I can’t help but also be encouraged by these same kids who amaze me with their ability to deal with difficult circumstances - the compassion and support they show for one another when they’re hurting - the 7th grader who got up in front of everyone at the funeral and shared his experiences and his perspectives on what had happened, putting into words what just about everyone was feeling. I’ve said before how I feel like middle-school kids get a bad rap, and I feel it even more after the past couple of days. They really can be amazing if you give them half a chance.
Nothing more to report, so until next time, may your bee swarms stay far away, may children (if you have any) remain motivated, and may your moments of sorrow remain manageable.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Bees, Making Out, and High Temperatures
When Bees Attack
As many of you may be aware, Arizona is one of the places that has been infiltrated over the past decade or so by “killer bees” and this is “bee season” so one has to be on the lookout for swarms. In the past few years, we’ve had bees in our house, bees in our wall (both these swarms had to be removed by professionals) and bees in one of the wooden posts on our patio (I got rid of this one by spraying them with a bunch of insecticide, then cramming steel wool into the cracks in the post so they couldn’t get in or out). Because of all these experiences, not to mention the stories in the newspaper where people are killed by killer bees, whenever I see a swarm of bees swarming, I get a little itchy – which is what happened just the other day as I was preparing to turn into our driveway. I glanced up at one of the trees in our yard and saw this strange thing that looked like a bird’s nest, and I thought, “Hey, that’s a strange looking thing that looks like a bird’s nest, I wonder what it is?” So I parked the car and went out to take a gander, and when I did, I saw that it wasn’t a bird’s nest at all, but instead, it was a bunch of bees. They were hanging all over each other on one of the branches, buzzing around and squirming like an amorphous mass of, well, I guess, bees. I figured it wasn’t a big deal since they weren’t going in or out of anything, just hanging out on the branch, so I did what anyone of the male gender would do in my situation - I picked up a couple of rocks and threw them at the bees to see what they would do. When I hit the amorphous mass of bees, they buzzed a bit and flew around in a tizzy, which kind of was a scary sound, so I got ready to run for it, but then they settled down and went back to whatever it was they were doing. At which point, I did what anyone of the male gender would do in such a situation and threw another rock. Same result as before. At that point, I kind of “thought outside of the box,” and did what most anyone of the male gender would not do, which was to go inside and leave the bees alone (in case you’re wondering, the thing that most males would do at this point would be to throw some more stuff at the bees – or get a long stick and poke the bees – or get a can of WD-40 and a lighter and climb up on a ladder and use the WD-40 as a flame-thrower to throw flames at the bees – or get a pillowcase and try to capture the bees – all of which I considered but ultimately rejected by embracing my more feminine side). I figured the bees would fly off soon, but they were still there the next morning, and they hung around all that day, but by the following morning, they had disappeared without a trace. Quite an adventure, wouldn’t you say?
P.D.A.
No, this is not a story about a “personal digital assistant” (what would be amusing about that?). Instead, this is about the other PDA, which is, in case you’re not in the know, is a “public display of affection.” This all came up when Katie was relaying some information about a certain friend of hers (who shall remain nameless to protect their anonymity and spare them from any possible embarrassment) who, apparently had recently been making out in a parking lot (at this point, you’re probably burning with curiosity as to who this person is, and who they were making out with, and why it’s considered “news-worthy” that they were making out in a parking lot – you may also be wondering what parking lot they were in, though I’m not sure why since that really doesn’t have anything to do with anything - but we’re not going to get into any of these issues here, because I figure all of that stuff is that person’s business and no one else’s, and for that matter, I might be making this whole part of the story up, and there might not have been a making-out incident in a parking lot that ever happened, and the only reason I even mentioned it was because it served as a clever lead-in to the anecdotal incident that I’m reporting on – so let it go, already). Anyway, when our middle child heard about this possibly fictional event, she said, in that horrified tone that teenagers have at certain times (usually when they’re slapped in the face by the fact that adults are people too), “That’s ridiculous! Why would old people make out in a parking lot?” to which I said something like, “What’s wrong with old people making out in a parking lot? Are parking lots only for young people to make out in?” at which point she became even more horrified and said, “It’s gross. Like that time when we were at the Denver zoo and you and mom were making out in front of the penguins.” Apparently, this happened back when she was in 3rd grade, and she (and I’m assuming the penguins also) have carried the scars for lo these many years. I guess this is just another one of those incidents she’ll be covering with her future therapist at some point in her future. Not sure about the penguins, but I suppose it’s safe to assume they’ll need therapy as well.
Runnin’ in the 90’s
No, this isn’t referring to running in the 1990’s (or the 1890’s for that matter), instead it’s referring to the temperature – as in 90˚ F (which is approximately 32˚ C – which seems like it should be fairly chilly - or 305˚ Kelvin – which sounds really, really scorching). For whatever reason, be it El Niño or global warming or global cooling or whatever, it’s been a pretty mild spring in the “Old Pueblo” and we didn’t officially hit the 90˚ F mark until much later than usual. In fact, we made it all the way to May without ever breaching that particular benchmark (and we’re still waiting for the “ice to break on the Rillito” which is “Old Pueblo-ese” for hitting the 100˚ F mark). Anyway, we’ve lucked out weather-wise for the past few months, and have managed to hit nice temperatures on pretty much all of our Saturday morning group runs. It’s rained a lot (for the “Old Pueblo”) but always on Saturday afternoon or Sunday, so we’ve been pretty much cool and dry, which is really nice when you’re putting in the long miles (or any miles, for that matter). Actually, we just had our first real warm weather run (over 90˚ F) this past Saturday. And our final long run (the 20-miler) is scheduled for the upcoming Saturday, which is supposed to be in the low 90’s, so we’ll get a little taste of heat, but it shouldn’t be too bad. Anyhow, our group is gearing up for San Diego in a little less than four weeks, where I’ll be the official “Head Coach for the Desert Mountain States Chapter” which I volunteered for without having any idea what it actually entails, and which I’m a little surprised they accepted me for, since I’m the guy who couldn’t even manage to keep a mylar balloon safely inflated overnight when it was entrusted to my care. I guess we’ll just have to see how it all goes.
That’s all I have for now, so until next time may your temperatures remain temperate, may your balloons remain inflated, and may your make-out sessions remain your own personal business and not be spread all across the internet for any yahoo to read as they please.
As many of you may be aware, Arizona is one of the places that has been infiltrated over the past decade or so by “killer bees” and this is “bee season” so one has to be on the lookout for swarms. In the past few years, we’ve had bees in our house, bees in our wall (both these swarms had to be removed by professionals) and bees in one of the wooden posts on our patio (I got rid of this one by spraying them with a bunch of insecticide, then cramming steel wool into the cracks in the post so they couldn’t get in or out). Because of all these experiences, not to mention the stories in the newspaper where people are killed by killer bees, whenever I see a swarm of bees swarming, I get a little itchy – which is what happened just the other day as I was preparing to turn into our driveway. I glanced up at one of the trees in our yard and saw this strange thing that looked like a bird’s nest, and I thought, “Hey, that’s a strange looking thing that looks like a bird’s nest, I wonder what it is?” So I parked the car and went out to take a gander, and when I did, I saw that it wasn’t a bird’s nest at all, but instead, it was a bunch of bees. They were hanging all over each other on one of the branches, buzzing around and squirming like an amorphous mass of, well, I guess, bees. I figured it wasn’t a big deal since they weren’t going in or out of anything, just hanging out on the branch, so I did what anyone of the male gender would do in my situation - I picked up a couple of rocks and threw them at the bees to see what they would do. When I hit the amorphous mass of bees, they buzzed a bit and flew around in a tizzy, which kind of was a scary sound, so I got ready to run for it, but then they settled down and went back to whatever it was they were doing. At which point, I did what anyone of the male gender would do in such a situation and threw another rock. Same result as before. At that point, I kind of “thought outside of the box,” and did what most anyone of the male gender would not do, which was to go inside and leave the bees alone (in case you’re wondering, the thing that most males would do at this point would be to throw some more stuff at the bees – or get a long stick and poke the bees – or get a can of WD-40 and a lighter and climb up on a ladder and use the WD-40 as a flame-thrower to throw flames at the bees – or get a pillowcase and try to capture the bees – all of which I considered but ultimately rejected by embracing my more feminine side). I figured the bees would fly off soon, but they were still there the next morning, and they hung around all that day, but by the following morning, they had disappeared without a trace. Quite an adventure, wouldn’t you say?
P.D.A.
No, this is not a story about a “personal digital assistant” (what would be amusing about that?). Instead, this is about the other PDA, which is, in case you’re not in the know, is a “public display of affection.” This all came up when Katie was relaying some information about a certain friend of hers (who shall remain nameless to protect their anonymity and spare them from any possible embarrassment) who, apparently had recently been making out in a parking lot (at this point, you’re probably burning with curiosity as to who this person is, and who they were making out with, and why it’s considered “news-worthy” that they were making out in a parking lot – you may also be wondering what parking lot they were in, though I’m not sure why since that really doesn’t have anything to do with anything - but we’re not going to get into any of these issues here, because I figure all of that stuff is that person’s business and no one else’s, and for that matter, I might be making this whole part of the story up, and there might not have been a making-out incident in a parking lot that ever happened, and the only reason I even mentioned it was because it served as a clever lead-in to the anecdotal incident that I’m reporting on – so let it go, already). Anyway, when our middle child heard about this possibly fictional event, she said, in that horrified tone that teenagers have at certain times (usually when they’re slapped in the face by the fact that adults are people too), “That’s ridiculous! Why would old people make out in a parking lot?” to which I said something like, “What’s wrong with old people making out in a parking lot? Are parking lots only for young people to make out in?” at which point she became even more horrified and said, “It’s gross. Like that time when we were at the Denver zoo and you and mom were making out in front of the penguins.” Apparently, this happened back when she was in 3rd grade, and she (and I’m assuming the penguins also) have carried the scars for lo these many years. I guess this is just another one of those incidents she’ll be covering with her future therapist at some point in her future. Not sure about the penguins, but I suppose it’s safe to assume they’ll need therapy as well.
Runnin’ in the 90’s
No, this isn’t referring to running in the 1990’s (or the 1890’s for that matter), instead it’s referring to the temperature – as in 90˚ F (which is approximately 32˚ C – which seems like it should be fairly chilly - or 305˚ Kelvin – which sounds really, really scorching). For whatever reason, be it El Niño or global warming or global cooling or whatever, it’s been a pretty mild spring in the “Old Pueblo” and we didn’t officially hit the 90˚ F mark until much later than usual. In fact, we made it all the way to May without ever breaching that particular benchmark (and we’re still waiting for the “ice to break on the Rillito” which is “Old Pueblo-ese” for hitting the 100˚ F mark). Anyway, we’ve lucked out weather-wise for the past few months, and have managed to hit nice temperatures on pretty much all of our Saturday morning group runs. It’s rained a lot (for the “Old Pueblo”) but always on Saturday afternoon or Sunday, so we’ve been pretty much cool and dry, which is really nice when you’re putting in the long miles (or any miles, for that matter). Actually, we just had our first real warm weather run (over 90˚ F) this past Saturday. And our final long run (the 20-miler) is scheduled for the upcoming Saturday, which is supposed to be in the low 90’s, so we’ll get a little taste of heat, but it shouldn’t be too bad. Anyhow, our group is gearing up for San Diego in a little less than four weeks, where I’ll be the official “Head Coach for the Desert Mountain States Chapter” which I volunteered for without having any idea what it actually entails, and which I’m a little surprised they accepted me for, since I’m the guy who couldn’t even manage to keep a mylar balloon safely inflated overnight when it was entrusted to my care. I guess we’ll just have to see how it all goes.
That’s all I have for now, so until next time may your temperatures remain temperate, may your balloons remain inflated, and may your make-out sessions remain your own personal business and not be spread all across the internet for any yahoo to read as they please.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Bobcats and Boston
Bobcats Gone Wild
Just before school started this morning, one of the students noticed a bobcat in a tree. The bobcat then moved from the tree to the top of the ramada next to my classroom, where it climbed onto a post and settled in. And so, we went into “lockdown” mode and herded all the children into the library, commons and MPR so that they wouldn’t be attacked (not sure there was much chance of a student being attacked, but in this day and age, you can’t be too careful). Meanwhile, just about every adult on campus came out to the commons so they could get a look at the bobcat, who was not a happy camper. And so, we spent the next couple of hours waiting for someone to show up and take care of the bobcat. First, a deputy from the sheriff’s department showed up – all he seemed able to do was to stand guard and make sure the bobcat didn’t escape (not sure how likely this would be, but he did have a gun). Next, someone from Game and Fish showed up, scoped out the situation with binoculars, and took some video (with a camouflaged video camera). At that point, we were asked to “clear the area” and I’m assuming he went and got the tranquilizer gun. After that, I’m not exactly sure what happened, because we weren’t allowed outside, but the bobcat moved from the ramada onto the roof of the building, where it hid behind one of the air conditioning units. Eventually (two hours and forty minutes after the first sighting) the guy managed to tranquilize the bobcat, and once it conked out, they boxed it up and hauled it away, and we were finally released from our “lockdown.” Ah, the excitement of dwelling in the desert.
The 114th Running of the Boston Marathon
Having participated in several marathons now, I have to say that this one was unique in several ways. There’s a kind of a cultish ambience surrounding the whole thing that grows more pervasive the closer you get to Boston. We got up early Saturday morning to drive to the Tucson airport, and as we were waiting for our flight, spotted several other Boston runners (they were easy to spot, because they were wearing the official Boston marathon jackets, which are bright blue with yellow stripes – apparently, this is a badge of honor, and just about everyone seems to have one of these). As we made our way across the country, we imagined a wave of these bright blue jacket wearers converging on New England from every direction (except from Europe, of course, which was inaccessible because of the giant cloud of volcanic ash), and by the time we landed at Logan airport, the bright blue jackets with yellow stripes seemed to be everywhere. And the people wearing these jackets all appeared to be really, really fit. This was especially apparent at the Expo. Normally, there are a fair number of people who you can tell are serious runners just by looking at them, but there are also plenty of people who you would never pick out of a line-up as a marathon runner – they just look like ordinary folks you’d see at the mall, or the movies, or just about anywhere else. Not so here. Seriously, it was like a gathering of Stepford Runners (wearing bright blue jackets with yellow stripes).
The next big adventure was making it to the starting line. Actually, this was kind of a “marathon before the marathon” scenario, because it actually took about half an hour longer for me to get to the start line from my hotel as it did for me to get from the start line to the finish line during the race. First I had to hop on the train and ride to Boston Commons, where the buses were waiting for more than 20,000 of us to load up. And if you’ve never seen 20,000+ people try to load onto school buses, well, suffice it to say is that this process involves a lot of standing and waiting in line. It was a serious mob scene. Once on the bus, it was then an hour-long ride to get to the starting area, where there were the usual long lines for the porta-potties and lots and lots of people milling around. Thankfully, the rainy weather from the weekend had cleared out, and though it was windy and chilly (in the 40’s) it was dry. Within about an hour, it was time to strip off layers and turn in my drop bag, then we had to walk about a mile to get to the actual starting line where we were directed into our corrals so we could stand around and wait some more. As the clock ticked closer to 10:00, you could feel the tension building, they played the national anthem, and a couple of jets flew over (the announcer told us that, just in case we were interested, these jets would be reaching the finish line in approximately 12 seconds – like I needed to hear that). And then the race began. Like most races of this magnitude, there’s a corral system, and you’re assigned to one of them according to your time, with the faster people lining up in front of the slower people. I was back in corral 12, which meant there were 12,000 people in front of me, so it took around 10 minutes of shuffling forward before I actually reached the starting line. With that, the first “marathon” ended, and the real one began.
From the very beginning, it was obvious that the people I was running with were pretty fast. More to the point, I spent almost the entire race getting passed by other runners, because I was running at a slower pace than my qualifying time (on purpose). Strangely enough, though, I found that I didn’t really care, because there were spectators cheering us on from the moment we crossed the starting line, and it never, ever stopped. The course runs from town to town, and since it’s Patriot’s Day, it’s a tradition for people to come out and cheer on the runners. And they take this tradition seriously. Thousands upon thousands of people lined the course, and since I was wearing my purple TNT jersey, I heard lots and lots of “Go Teams” as I piled up the miles. The weather was perfect (in the 50’s with a nice little tailwind), I felt good, and the miles slipped by. Earlier in the week, I had decided that I was going to try to run this race like Tiger rather than Phil (if you happen to be a golf fan, you may know that Tiger snarls and Phil smiles - Tiger stalks and Phil saunters - Tiger glowers and Phil waves - Tiger curses and Phil laughs – and then there’s the whole other issue, that we won’t get into here). In the past, I’ve kind of had a Tiger approach to marathoning (this is not as bad as it might sound, so read on) where I go inside myself and focus completely on running as fast and as hard as I can so I don’t leave anything out on the course. This works well as far as running as fast as possible, but it takes a lot of concentration and I find that I almost get angry as I’m running in this mode. Instead of that, for this race, I decided I was going to try to focus outward and enjoy the experience without worrying so much about how I was doing time-wise. I wanted to run a decent time, but I didn’t feel any need to run as fast as I could, so I waved at people and high-fived little kids and chugged along at a reasonably comfortable pace. And then we reached Wellesley.
At around mile 12-1/2, the route passes by Wellesley College, and this particular stretch is known as the “Tunnel of Love” because all the Wellesley girls come out and scream (and yes, I do mean scream) for the runners. And many of them are holding signs that say things like , “Kiss me, I’m Jewish,” “Kiss me, I brushed this morning,” “Kiss me, I should be studying,” “Kiss me, I’m drunk,” and so on (are you seeing a theme here?). At this point, I was faced with an obvious choice. As in, who, and how many, was I going to kiss. Here’s the thing. I haven’t kissed very many girls in my life. In fact, you could probably count the total number of girls I’ve kissed on one hand (actually, I think you can count then on one hand). So here was my opportunity to double, triple, maybe even quadruple that number. The girls were practically begging for kisses. But then I remembered – I’m Phil, not Tiger (plus, I’m way too shy). So instead of passing out kisses, I smiled and waved and slapped hands as I continued to run, but I never kissed a Wellesley girl.
After that, the course continued over rivers (the Charles), through woods, past lots and lots of cheering spectators (and probably houses belonging to grandmothers), and though I started feeling fatigued, I was still chugging along at a pretty steady pace. We entered Newton, which is where the famed “Newton Hills,” including the most famous one known as “Heartbreak” are located between miles 17 and 21, and ran by Boston College, where lots of students who were, shall we say, “celebrating the holiday,” were screaming, yelling, and carrying on like college students who have been celebrating a little bit excessively, and after that , it was pretty much a straight shot into downtown Boston. During the last three miles, the crowds grew even larger, and the course was lined three-to-four deep on both sides as we made our way down Beacon Street to the finish line. It was like the final 200 yards of some of the other marathons I’ve completed, but this was for three continuous miles, and the cheering never let up. Once I spotted the giant Citgo sign that marks the one-mile-to-go mark, I knew I was going to make it, and I cruised along the homestretch feeling tired but good, and watching my pace to make sure I made it over the finish line before the 4-hour mark ticked off.
Overall, it was a pretty amazing experience. I’m not sure I’ll ever want to do it again (or, for that matter, that I’ll ever be able to qualify again) but I’m very grateful that I got the opportunity to run it, and I’m really glad I was able to finish feeling good and with a respectable time (almost exactly my goal when I set out).
Time to go, so until next time, may your carry-on always fit in the overhead compartment, may your luggage always reach your destination, and may your flights always depart at their scheduled times.
Just before school started this morning, one of the students noticed a bobcat in a tree. The bobcat then moved from the tree to the top of the ramada next to my classroom, where it climbed onto a post and settled in. And so, we went into “lockdown” mode and herded all the children into the library, commons and MPR so that they wouldn’t be attacked (not sure there was much chance of a student being attacked, but in this day and age, you can’t be too careful). Meanwhile, just about every adult on campus came out to the commons so they could get a look at the bobcat, who was not a happy camper. And so, we spent the next couple of hours waiting for someone to show up and take care of the bobcat. First, a deputy from the sheriff’s department showed up – all he seemed able to do was to stand guard and make sure the bobcat didn’t escape (not sure how likely this would be, but he did have a gun). Next, someone from Game and Fish showed up, scoped out the situation with binoculars, and took some video (with a camouflaged video camera). At that point, we were asked to “clear the area” and I’m assuming he went and got the tranquilizer gun. After that, I’m not exactly sure what happened, because we weren’t allowed outside, but the bobcat moved from the ramada onto the roof of the building, where it hid behind one of the air conditioning units. Eventually (two hours and forty minutes after the first sighting) the guy managed to tranquilize the bobcat, and once it conked out, they boxed it up and hauled it away, and we were finally released from our “lockdown.” Ah, the excitement of dwelling in the desert.
The 114th Running of the Boston Marathon
Having participated in several marathons now, I have to say that this one was unique in several ways. There’s a kind of a cultish ambience surrounding the whole thing that grows more pervasive the closer you get to Boston. We got up early Saturday morning to drive to the Tucson airport, and as we were waiting for our flight, spotted several other Boston runners (they were easy to spot, because they were wearing the official Boston marathon jackets, which are bright blue with yellow stripes – apparently, this is a badge of honor, and just about everyone seems to have one of these). As we made our way across the country, we imagined a wave of these bright blue jacket wearers converging on New England from every direction (except from Europe, of course, which was inaccessible because of the giant cloud of volcanic ash), and by the time we landed at Logan airport, the bright blue jackets with yellow stripes seemed to be everywhere. And the people wearing these jackets all appeared to be really, really fit. This was especially apparent at the Expo. Normally, there are a fair number of people who you can tell are serious runners just by looking at them, but there are also plenty of people who you would never pick out of a line-up as a marathon runner – they just look like ordinary folks you’d see at the mall, or the movies, or just about anywhere else. Not so here. Seriously, it was like a gathering of Stepford Runners (wearing bright blue jackets with yellow stripes).
The next big adventure was making it to the starting line. Actually, this was kind of a “marathon before the marathon” scenario, because it actually took about half an hour longer for me to get to the start line from my hotel as it did for me to get from the start line to the finish line during the race. First I had to hop on the train and ride to Boston Commons, where the buses were waiting for more than 20,000 of us to load up. And if you’ve never seen 20,000+ people try to load onto school buses, well, suffice it to say is that this process involves a lot of standing and waiting in line. It was a serious mob scene. Once on the bus, it was then an hour-long ride to get to the starting area, where there were the usual long lines for the porta-potties and lots and lots of people milling around. Thankfully, the rainy weather from the weekend had cleared out, and though it was windy and chilly (in the 40’s) it was dry. Within about an hour, it was time to strip off layers and turn in my drop bag, then we had to walk about a mile to get to the actual starting line where we were directed into our corrals so we could stand around and wait some more. As the clock ticked closer to 10:00, you could feel the tension building, they played the national anthem, and a couple of jets flew over (the announcer told us that, just in case we were interested, these jets would be reaching the finish line in approximately 12 seconds – like I needed to hear that). And then the race began. Like most races of this magnitude, there’s a corral system, and you’re assigned to one of them according to your time, with the faster people lining up in front of the slower people. I was back in corral 12, which meant there were 12,000 people in front of me, so it took around 10 minutes of shuffling forward before I actually reached the starting line. With that, the first “marathon” ended, and the real one began.
From the very beginning, it was obvious that the people I was running with were pretty fast. More to the point, I spent almost the entire race getting passed by other runners, because I was running at a slower pace than my qualifying time (on purpose). Strangely enough, though, I found that I didn’t really care, because there were spectators cheering us on from the moment we crossed the starting line, and it never, ever stopped. The course runs from town to town, and since it’s Patriot’s Day, it’s a tradition for people to come out and cheer on the runners. And they take this tradition seriously. Thousands upon thousands of people lined the course, and since I was wearing my purple TNT jersey, I heard lots and lots of “Go Teams” as I piled up the miles. The weather was perfect (in the 50’s with a nice little tailwind), I felt good, and the miles slipped by. Earlier in the week, I had decided that I was going to try to run this race like Tiger rather than Phil (if you happen to be a golf fan, you may know that Tiger snarls and Phil smiles - Tiger stalks and Phil saunters - Tiger glowers and Phil waves - Tiger curses and Phil laughs – and then there’s the whole other issue, that we won’t get into here). In the past, I’ve kind of had a Tiger approach to marathoning (this is not as bad as it might sound, so read on) where I go inside myself and focus completely on running as fast and as hard as I can so I don’t leave anything out on the course. This works well as far as running as fast as possible, but it takes a lot of concentration and I find that I almost get angry as I’m running in this mode. Instead of that, for this race, I decided I was going to try to focus outward and enjoy the experience without worrying so much about how I was doing time-wise. I wanted to run a decent time, but I didn’t feel any need to run as fast as I could, so I waved at people and high-fived little kids and chugged along at a reasonably comfortable pace. And then we reached Wellesley.
At around mile 12-1/2, the route passes by Wellesley College, and this particular stretch is known as the “Tunnel of Love” because all the Wellesley girls come out and scream (and yes, I do mean scream) for the runners. And many of them are holding signs that say things like , “Kiss me, I’m Jewish,” “Kiss me, I brushed this morning,” “Kiss me, I should be studying,” “Kiss me, I’m drunk,” and so on (are you seeing a theme here?). At this point, I was faced with an obvious choice. As in, who, and how many, was I going to kiss. Here’s the thing. I haven’t kissed very many girls in my life. In fact, you could probably count the total number of girls I’ve kissed on one hand (actually, I think you can count then on one hand). So here was my opportunity to double, triple, maybe even quadruple that number. The girls were practically begging for kisses. But then I remembered – I’m Phil, not Tiger (plus, I’m way too shy). So instead of passing out kisses, I smiled and waved and slapped hands as I continued to run, but I never kissed a Wellesley girl.
After that, the course continued over rivers (the Charles), through woods, past lots and lots of cheering spectators (and probably houses belonging to grandmothers), and though I started feeling fatigued, I was still chugging along at a pretty steady pace. We entered Newton, which is where the famed “Newton Hills,” including the most famous one known as “Heartbreak” are located between miles 17 and 21, and ran by Boston College, where lots of students who were, shall we say, “celebrating the holiday,” were screaming, yelling, and carrying on like college students who have been celebrating a little bit excessively, and after that , it was pretty much a straight shot into downtown Boston. During the last three miles, the crowds grew even larger, and the course was lined three-to-four deep on both sides as we made our way down Beacon Street to the finish line. It was like the final 200 yards of some of the other marathons I’ve completed, but this was for three continuous miles, and the cheering never let up. Once I spotted the giant Citgo sign that marks the one-mile-to-go mark, I knew I was going to make it, and I cruised along the homestretch feeling tired but good, and watching my pace to make sure I made it over the finish line before the 4-hour mark ticked off.
Overall, it was a pretty amazing experience. I’m not sure I’ll ever want to do it again (or, for that matter, that I’ll ever be able to qualify again) but I’m very grateful that I got the opportunity to run it, and I’m really glad I was able to finish feeling good and with a respectable time (almost exactly my goal when I set out).
Time to go, so until next time, may your carry-on always fit in the overhead compartment, may your luggage always reach your destination, and may your flights always depart at their scheduled times.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Grapes, Unexpected Encounters, and a Trip to Beantown
Communication Breakdown
You would think that after nearly 23 years of nearly constant marital bliss, my lovely bride and I would have the whole communication thing down pat. The sad and ugly truth is, however, that we don’t. There are a couple of theories floating around out there as to the reason for this. According to me, she often doesn’t tell me what’s going on, then springs things on me at the last second, which catches me by surprise and throws me for a loop. According to her, she often tells me about things, then I forget that she told me, and then I get testy when they actually occur. Anyway, this all came to a head recently when I noticed some grapes in the freezer. You might be wondering, why were there grapes in the freezer? Well, I was wondering the exact same thing, which was, “I wonder why there are grapes in the freezer.” I assumed, for whatever reason, that the grapes were Katie’s, and that they were somehow connected to her job (not sure why, but it seemed like it made sense at the time). She, on the other hand, had also noticed the grapes in the freezer, and she (along with wondering why there were grapes in the freezer like everyone else) assumed that they belonged to me, and that I had some very logical and well thought out reason for storing a bunch of grapes in the freezer. Time passed, and the grapes in the freezer remained frozen, and we both continued to wonder why there were grapes in the freezer, until finally one day as I was putting the groceries away, I asked Katie, “Why do you have grapes in the freezer?” to which she replied, “I thought they were your grapes,” to which I replied, “I thought they were your grapes – aren’t you using them for some kind of school project?” to which she replied, “Why would I used frozen grapes for a school project?” to which I replied, “I don’t know, maybe it’s some kind of an art project - or maybe you’re studying grapes or making wine - or something,” to which she replied, “Are you serious? An art project with frozen grapes? Wine-making with little kids?” to which I had no reply, other than to shrug sheepishly. Eventually, we worked through all this confusion and came to the conclusion (thanks to input from our lovely daughter, Carrie) that the grapes, in fact, belonged to our eldest daughter, who had visited for a couple of days over Spring Break and had invited friends over to watch movies and make smoothies, hence the leftover grapes in the freezer. Mystery solved.
Strangers in Paradise
Since Katie and I will be traveling out of town this weekend (more on this below) the kids will be spending some “quality time” with the g-parents. So Katie was informing Connor of this the other day and said, “I’ll take you to meet Grandma on Friday afternoon,” to which Connor replied, “But I already know Grandma.” Gotta love that kid.
Beantown
The big day is just around the corner, and all our ducks are (hopefully) in a row. Airline reservations are set, hotel rooms await, entry fees are paid, and bodily systems have been trained, peaked, and tapered so that they will (hopefully) perform admirably under the stress of running 26.2 miles as fast as possible. Katie and I will rise early (in the 4’s) on Saturday, board a plane, make a transfer, cross a couple of time zones, and wind up in Boston around 5:00 pm (eastern time) or so. Then on Monday, I’ll get up very early again, take a bus to get on another bus, which will take me to the starting line, where I’ll sit around and wait for a couple of hours, then line up behind 12,000 people who are faster than me (but in front of about 14,000 others) and wait for the gun to go off, then will inch forward inch by inch until I finally cross the actual start line and the race begins. The race starts at 10 am eastern time, which is 7 am here in Tucson, and it will probably take 20-30 minutes before I actually cross the start line. If you’re interested, bored, or have nothing better to do Monday morning, you can follow my progress throughout that morning (let’s hope it doesn’t stretch into the afternoon) by logging onto the Boston Marathon website (http://www.bostonmarathon.org/) and entering either my name, or my bib number (12597). The site will update automatically when I cross certain checkpoints along the course, so you can see how I’m doing.
I’ve got sub plans to write, so that’s all for this entry. Until next time, may your beans grow in straight and orderly rows, may your freezers remain grape-free (unless you’re planning on making smoothies), and may your jell-o break the mold.
You would think that after nearly 23 years of nearly constant marital bliss, my lovely bride and I would have the whole communication thing down pat. The sad and ugly truth is, however, that we don’t. There are a couple of theories floating around out there as to the reason for this. According to me, she often doesn’t tell me what’s going on, then springs things on me at the last second, which catches me by surprise and throws me for a loop. According to her, she often tells me about things, then I forget that she told me, and then I get testy when they actually occur. Anyway, this all came to a head recently when I noticed some grapes in the freezer. You might be wondering, why were there grapes in the freezer? Well, I was wondering the exact same thing, which was, “I wonder why there are grapes in the freezer.” I assumed, for whatever reason, that the grapes were Katie’s, and that they were somehow connected to her job (not sure why, but it seemed like it made sense at the time). She, on the other hand, had also noticed the grapes in the freezer, and she (along with wondering why there were grapes in the freezer like everyone else) assumed that they belonged to me, and that I had some very logical and well thought out reason for storing a bunch of grapes in the freezer. Time passed, and the grapes in the freezer remained frozen, and we both continued to wonder why there were grapes in the freezer, until finally one day as I was putting the groceries away, I asked Katie, “Why do you have grapes in the freezer?” to which she replied, “I thought they were your grapes,” to which I replied, “I thought they were your grapes – aren’t you using them for some kind of school project?” to which she replied, “Why would I used frozen grapes for a school project?” to which I replied, “I don’t know, maybe it’s some kind of an art project - or maybe you’re studying grapes or making wine - or something,” to which she replied, “Are you serious? An art project with frozen grapes? Wine-making with little kids?” to which I had no reply, other than to shrug sheepishly. Eventually, we worked through all this confusion and came to the conclusion (thanks to input from our lovely daughter, Carrie) that the grapes, in fact, belonged to our eldest daughter, who had visited for a couple of days over Spring Break and had invited friends over to watch movies and make smoothies, hence the leftover grapes in the freezer. Mystery solved.
Strangers in Paradise
Since Katie and I will be traveling out of town this weekend (more on this below) the kids will be spending some “quality time” with the g-parents. So Katie was informing Connor of this the other day and said, “I’ll take you to meet Grandma on Friday afternoon,” to which Connor replied, “But I already know Grandma.” Gotta love that kid.
Beantown
The big day is just around the corner, and all our ducks are (hopefully) in a row. Airline reservations are set, hotel rooms await, entry fees are paid, and bodily systems have been trained, peaked, and tapered so that they will (hopefully) perform admirably under the stress of running 26.2 miles as fast as possible. Katie and I will rise early (in the 4’s) on Saturday, board a plane, make a transfer, cross a couple of time zones, and wind up in Boston around 5:00 pm (eastern time) or so. Then on Monday, I’ll get up very early again, take a bus to get on another bus, which will take me to the starting line, where I’ll sit around and wait for a couple of hours, then line up behind 12,000 people who are faster than me (but in front of about 14,000 others) and wait for the gun to go off, then will inch forward inch by inch until I finally cross the actual start line and the race begins. The race starts at 10 am eastern time, which is 7 am here in Tucson, and it will probably take 20-30 minutes before I actually cross the start line. If you’re interested, bored, or have nothing better to do Monday morning, you can follow my progress throughout that morning (let’s hope it doesn’t stretch into the afternoon) by logging onto the Boston Marathon website (http://www.bostonmarathon.org/) and entering either my name, or my bib number (12597). The site will update automatically when I cross certain checkpoints along the course, so you can see how I’m doing.
I’ve got sub plans to write, so that’s all for this entry. Until next time, may your beans grow in straight and orderly rows, may your freezers remain grape-free (unless you’re planning on making smoothies), and may your jell-o break the mold.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Stalkers, Bagpipes, and Monks
More on Miley
I realize that having yet another entry related to Miley Cyrus crosses some metaphysical line in the sand, and once that line is crossed, there’s no returning to life as we know it – even so, I find myself creating for the third time in a row, an entry related to M.C. So be it. The other day, my wife was having lunch with a first grader (not sure why, but she does this kind of thing more often than you might expect) and as they were chatting about the health care bill, the situation in Somalia, and other topics of interest, the aforementioned Miley Cyrus popped up (not literally, which would be very creepy, but in a figurative way, which means her name came up as a topic of conversation). This particular first grader expressed her dismay upon learning the news that Miley may be giving up singing (actually, she was dismayed that Hannah Montana was quitting, which just goes to show you how damaging this whole alter-ego thing has been for the youth of America. Anyhow, Katie immediately informed her little friend of the little-known reason that Miley/Hannah was hanging it up (which you, as a faithful reader of these entries should be fully aware of, is because of these entries – specifically, the one in which I went on a wild rampaging rant about M.C./H.M, and which M.C./H.M. must have read or heard about, prompting her decision to retire). In other words, Katie let the cat out of the bag (have you ever wondered what the cat was doing in the bag in the first place – it can’t be anything good) and said something along the lines of, “My husband convinced Hannah Montana to quit singing,” whereupon her little lunch companion burst into tears and vowed to spend the rest of her long and bitter existence seeking revenge on the person who had caused her life to descend into despair – namely, me. So now I’ve got to worry about some grief-stricken first grader who’s plotting against me popping out of the woodwork and doing who-knows-what to me. Like there’s not enough going on as it is. Sheesh.
Speaking of American Idol…
Okay, I realize we weren’t technically speaking of A.I., but if we were, then I feel the need to mention how totally awesome it was last week when one of the contestants, in the middle of his song (which happened to be “Hey Jude”) had a bagpiper enter the stage. And not just enter, but come down the staircase bagpiping away while dressed in the whole Scottish bagpiping get-up. It had to be one of the most strange and random and pretty darned mildly amusing things I’ve ever seen on television. And then the judges were all like, “Yeah, that was really weird with the bagpiper,” in a really subdued way that you could tell meant they weren’t very impressed. Actually, it seemed like they were more impressed by the person who was accompanied by a didgeridoo, which was also pretty cool, but I still thought the bagpiper trumped it.
Brother Connor
Ah, the joy of parenthood, especially when one or more of your children morph into creatures that you neither recognize nor understand (nor do you particularly want to). For the most part, Katie and I have been blessed with children who are pretty much enjoyable and agreeable, but there are moments when we look at each other and wonder, “What the heck were we thinking?” Such was the case last week when our son, who is twelve stopped speaking. At all. To anyone (even the cat, which was when we really knew he was serious). We’re not exactly sure why he did this. One theory is that, because his class is studying various religions in social studies, he decided (serious scholar that he is) to create a simulation for himself in which he pretended he was a monk who had taken a vow of silence (hence, the “Brother Connor” reference above). Another theory has to do with anger and revenge. Why he got angry at us/me and felt the need to gain vengeance is not exactly clear, but I think it might have stemmed from me asking him to clean out the cat box, followed about an hour later by me asking him if he had cleaned out the cat box, and him saying he had, but then me noticing that he hadn’t, which meant that he hadn’t done what he was supposed to, then made it worse by lying about it, so I got mad, and he got mad, and when I get mad I kind of just let it out, and when he gets mad, he kind of just holds it in, and because he was angry and because he has a tendency to get kind of passive-aggressive when he’s angry, he decided to “punish” us/me by taking a vow of silence. Either way, the end result was he didn’t speak for two days. Which was actually surprisingly tough to deal with, and as frustrating and aggravating as it was, there was also a part of me (a very, very small part) that was sort of impressed by his stubborn refusal to speak. Now, if only we could get him to put that kind of effort and focus into more positive things. Like, for example, cleaning the cat box.
Update
Boston marathon is 10 days away. Tapering is going well. Hoping the weather (and all my various body parts) cooperate. Fingers crossed.
Okay, that’s all for now, so until next time, may your entrances be spectacular, may your motives remain pure, and may your evil empires crumble.
I realize that having yet another entry related to Miley Cyrus crosses some metaphysical line in the sand, and once that line is crossed, there’s no returning to life as we know it – even so, I find myself creating for the third time in a row, an entry related to M.C. So be it. The other day, my wife was having lunch with a first grader (not sure why, but she does this kind of thing more often than you might expect) and as they were chatting about the health care bill, the situation in Somalia, and other topics of interest, the aforementioned Miley Cyrus popped up (not literally, which would be very creepy, but in a figurative way, which means her name came up as a topic of conversation). This particular first grader expressed her dismay upon learning the news that Miley may be giving up singing (actually, she was dismayed that Hannah Montana was quitting, which just goes to show you how damaging this whole alter-ego thing has been for the youth of America. Anyhow, Katie immediately informed her little friend of the little-known reason that Miley/Hannah was hanging it up (which you, as a faithful reader of these entries should be fully aware of, is because of these entries – specifically, the one in which I went on a wild rampaging rant about M.C./H.M, and which M.C./H.M. must have read or heard about, prompting her decision to retire). In other words, Katie let the cat out of the bag (have you ever wondered what the cat was doing in the bag in the first place – it can’t be anything good) and said something along the lines of, “My husband convinced Hannah Montana to quit singing,” whereupon her little lunch companion burst into tears and vowed to spend the rest of her long and bitter existence seeking revenge on the person who had caused her life to descend into despair – namely, me. So now I’ve got to worry about some grief-stricken first grader who’s plotting against me popping out of the woodwork and doing who-knows-what to me. Like there’s not enough going on as it is. Sheesh.
Speaking of American Idol…
Okay, I realize we weren’t technically speaking of A.I., but if we were, then I feel the need to mention how totally awesome it was last week when one of the contestants, in the middle of his song (which happened to be “Hey Jude”) had a bagpiper enter the stage. And not just enter, but come down the staircase bagpiping away while dressed in the whole Scottish bagpiping get-up. It had to be one of the most strange and random and pretty darned mildly amusing things I’ve ever seen on television. And then the judges were all like, “Yeah, that was really weird with the bagpiper,” in a really subdued way that you could tell meant they weren’t very impressed. Actually, it seemed like they were more impressed by the person who was accompanied by a didgeridoo, which was also pretty cool, but I still thought the bagpiper trumped it.
Brother Connor
Ah, the joy of parenthood, especially when one or more of your children morph into creatures that you neither recognize nor understand (nor do you particularly want to). For the most part, Katie and I have been blessed with children who are pretty much enjoyable and agreeable, but there are moments when we look at each other and wonder, “What the heck were we thinking?” Such was the case last week when our son, who is twelve stopped speaking. At all. To anyone (even the cat, which was when we really knew he was serious). We’re not exactly sure why he did this. One theory is that, because his class is studying various religions in social studies, he decided (serious scholar that he is) to create a simulation for himself in which he pretended he was a monk who had taken a vow of silence (hence, the “Brother Connor” reference above). Another theory has to do with anger and revenge. Why he got angry at us/me and felt the need to gain vengeance is not exactly clear, but I think it might have stemmed from me asking him to clean out the cat box, followed about an hour later by me asking him if he had cleaned out the cat box, and him saying he had, but then me noticing that he hadn’t, which meant that he hadn’t done what he was supposed to, then made it worse by lying about it, so I got mad, and he got mad, and when I get mad I kind of just let it out, and when he gets mad, he kind of just holds it in, and because he was angry and because he has a tendency to get kind of passive-aggressive when he’s angry, he decided to “punish” us/me by taking a vow of silence. Either way, the end result was he didn’t speak for two days. Which was actually surprisingly tough to deal with, and as frustrating and aggravating as it was, there was also a part of me (a very, very small part) that was sort of impressed by his stubborn refusal to speak. Now, if only we could get him to put that kind of effort and focus into more positive things. Like, for example, cleaning the cat box.
Update
Boston marathon is 10 days away. Tapering is going well. Hoping the weather (and all my various body parts) cooperate. Fingers crossed.
Okay, that’s all for now, so until next time, may your entrances be spectacular, may your motives remain pure, and may your evil empires crumble.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Weeds, Power, and Dean Karnazes
Winter showers bring Spring…
…weeds. Lots and lots of weeds, as in my entire backyard overflowing with all types of weeds. Tall ones with yellow flowers, creepy-crawly ones with purple flowers, bushy-stickery ones with pinkish fuzzball flowers, and a variety of grasses. When they first started growing, they actually made the yard (which is basically a big old bare patch of dirt) look pretty good, but as time went by and they started to dry out and get scraggly, it began to look more than a little tacky. So in honor of Spring Break, I decided to break out the old "hula hoe" and take them on - speaking of which, I have to wonder who invented the "hula hoe" and if it's strictly a Tucson (aka - "The Old Pueblo") kind of thing. I don't remember ever running into one of these when I was a kid (though I did my fair share of weeding) and it really is a pretty clever contraption. Anyway, it cost me three days, lots of sweat, a couple of blisters, and sore abdominals (which makes me wonder if I should capitalize on this whole thing and churn out one of those exercise videos that seem to be so popular in today's day and age - instead of tae-bo or pilates or pole dancing or whatever type of workout they're offering now, this could be the "hula-hoe" workout, with the added bonus that you get a weed-free yard in addition to a stronger core). Bottom line is that I have finally managed to transform the big old bare patch of dirt that was overflowing with lots and lots of weeds back into a big old bare patch of dirt without any weeds - at least until the monsoon season hits.
Say it isn't so
If you read last week's installment, you may recall a certain little rant I went off on that had to do with Miley Cyrus and her serving as a mentor for "Americal Idol," and how I couldn't see that as a viable option for a variety of reasons which I won't get into here, because if I did, it would just be rehashing an old rant, and nobody wants that. On a related note, though, I was more than a little surprised to find out that within 48 hours of my posting last week's rant, Miley announced that she was giving up singing - apparently because the music industry wasn't positive enough for her. Wow! Imagine my surprise when I heard this news. I had no idea of the power I held at my fingertips. When they say the pen (or in this case, the keyboard, or maybe the digital universe - not sure what's the best way to phrase this phrase) is more powerful than the sword, I guess they're really not kidding. So I suppose the lesson I take from all of this (and one that I hope all of the millions of readers out there in cyberspace take as well) is that we all need to be very, very careful about what flows from our minds out into the universe, because the dire ramifications of the consequences that can follow are sometimes extreme and completely unexpected, and because of this, they can catch us all by surprise. Duly noted.
Ultra-Light
For those of you in the know when it comes to running long distances, you've most likely heard of a dude named Dean Karnazes who wrote a book about himself called "Ultra Marathon Man" in which he shared some of the amazing (and slightly insane) things he's done related to endurance sports (like running a marathon at the South Pole, or running 300 miles, or winning some of the crazy ultra-marathons like Badwater and the Western Open). Anyhow, with apologies to Mr. Karnazes, I've decided that my (as yet unpublished - and unwritten) autobiography should be entitled, "Ultra Half-Marathon Man," because I just completed my first "ultra half-marathon" this past week (actually, there really isn't such a thing as an "ultra half-marathon" but I think there should be because it's not only manageable for us mere mortals, but it's also kind of fun to run one - and it sounds really impressive even though it's not really all that big of a deal). What is an "ultra half-marathon" you ask? As stated above, it doesn't actually exist, but if it did, here's what it would be: any race where you go longer than a half-marathon, but it can't be a full marathon, and it also can't be a designated distance between a half-marathon and a marathon (like, for example, a 20-mile race - that would just be called a "20-mile race"). So the way I accomplished this was by signing up for the Arizona Distance Classic, which is a half-marathon (and which I ran as a Team in Training alum - thanks to the students in my classes who donated over $1,000 for the fight against cancer) but instead of driving to the start, which most people do, I decided to do what any other ultra half-marathoner would do and ran to the start instead. So I got up at around 4, left the house at around 5, and ran 10 miles to the start, then lined up for the start of the race and ran the half-marathon for a total of 23 miles. Since this was also my last long training run before Boston (2-1/2 weeks to go) my goal in the race was to run my slowest half-marathon time ever, which may sound a little strange, but if you know me, you know that once a race begins something crazy happens to me and I become this crazed person who runs as fast as he can rather than taking it easy and enjoying myself, and I didn't want to do that in this particular race because it was a training run and there was no reason to risk getting injured a couple of weeks before my marathon. So I figured tacking on the extra ten miles before the race would force me to slow down, and lo and behold, it actually worked. I stuck to my planned pace, I ignored all the people who passed me (people that I could have easily passed had I wanted to - just saying) took walk breaks every once in awhile, stopped to say hello to my wife and daughter at their water station, and generally had a very relaxed and pleasant run. And at the finish, I felt good - tired, but not completely spent like I sometimes am when I run really hard. So all that was good, and I'm now in the tapering (or peaking, depending on which term you like) phrase of my training, and I'm feeling ready to go.
Guess that's all for now, so until next time, may your accomplishments be ultra-magnificent, may your gardens remain weed-free, and may your phrases remain short and pithy.
…weeds. Lots and lots of weeds, as in my entire backyard overflowing with all types of weeds. Tall ones with yellow flowers, creepy-crawly ones with purple flowers, bushy-stickery ones with pinkish fuzzball flowers, and a variety of grasses. When they first started growing, they actually made the yard (which is basically a big old bare patch of dirt) look pretty good, but as time went by and they started to dry out and get scraggly, it began to look more than a little tacky. So in honor of Spring Break, I decided to break out the old "hula hoe" and take them on - speaking of which, I have to wonder who invented the "hula hoe" and if it's strictly a Tucson (aka - "The Old Pueblo") kind of thing. I don't remember ever running into one of these when I was a kid (though I did my fair share of weeding) and it really is a pretty clever contraption. Anyway, it cost me three days, lots of sweat, a couple of blisters, and sore abdominals (which makes me wonder if I should capitalize on this whole thing and churn out one of those exercise videos that seem to be so popular in today's day and age - instead of tae-bo or pilates or pole dancing or whatever type of workout they're offering now, this could be the "hula-hoe" workout, with the added bonus that you get a weed-free yard in addition to a stronger core). Bottom line is that I have finally managed to transform the big old bare patch of dirt that was overflowing with lots and lots of weeds back into a big old bare patch of dirt without any weeds - at least until the monsoon season hits.
Say it isn't so
If you read last week's installment, you may recall a certain little rant I went off on that had to do with Miley Cyrus and her serving as a mentor for "Americal Idol," and how I couldn't see that as a viable option for a variety of reasons which I won't get into here, because if I did, it would just be rehashing an old rant, and nobody wants that. On a related note, though, I was more than a little surprised to find out that within 48 hours of my posting last week's rant, Miley announced that she was giving up singing - apparently because the music industry wasn't positive enough for her. Wow! Imagine my surprise when I heard this news. I had no idea of the power I held at my fingertips. When they say the pen (or in this case, the keyboard, or maybe the digital universe - not sure what's the best way to phrase this phrase) is more powerful than the sword, I guess they're really not kidding. So I suppose the lesson I take from all of this (and one that I hope all of the millions of readers out there in cyberspace take as well) is that we all need to be very, very careful about what flows from our minds out into the universe, because the dire ramifications of the consequences that can follow are sometimes extreme and completely unexpected, and because of this, they can catch us all by surprise. Duly noted.
Ultra-Light
For those of you in the know when it comes to running long distances, you've most likely heard of a dude named Dean Karnazes who wrote a book about himself called "Ultra Marathon Man" in which he shared some of the amazing (and slightly insane) things he's done related to endurance sports (like running a marathon at the South Pole, or running 300 miles, or winning some of the crazy ultra-marathons like Badwater and the Western Open). Anyhow, with apologies to Mr. Karnazes, I've decided that my (as yet unpublished - and unwritten) autobiography should be entitled, "Ultra Half-Marathon Man," because I just completed my first "ultra half-marathon" this past week (actually, there really isn't such a thing as an "ultra half-marathon" but I think there should be because it's not only manageable for us mere mortals, but it's also kind of fun to run one - and it sounds really impressive even though it's not really all that big of a deal). What is an "ultra half-marathon" you ask? As stated above, it doesn't actually exist, but if it did, here's what it would be: any race where you go longer than a half-marathon, but it can't be a full marathon, and it also can't be a designated distance between a half-marathon and a marathon (like, for example, a 20-mile race - that would just be called a "20-mile race"). So the way I accomplished this was by signing up for the Arizona Distance Classic, which is a half-marathon (and which I ran as a Team in Training alum - thanks to the students in my classes who donated over $1,000 for the fight against cancer) but instead of driving to the start, which most people do, I decided to do what any other ultra half-marathoner would do and ran to the start instead. So I got up at around 4, left the house at around 5, and ran 10 miles to the start, then lined up for the start of the race and ran the half-marathon for a total of 23 miles. Since this was also my last long training run before Boston (2-1/2 weeks to go) my goal in the race was to run my slowest half-marathon time ever, which may sound a little strange, but if you know me, you know that once a race begins something crazy happens to me and I become this crazed person who runs as fast as he can rather than taking it easy and enjoying myself, and I didn't want to do that in this particular race because it was a training run and there was no reason to risk getting injured a couple of weeks before my marathon. So I figured tacking on the extra ten miles before the race would force me to slow down, and lo and behold, it actually worked. I stuck to my planned pace, I ignored all the people who passed me (people that I could have easily passed had I wanted to - just saying) took walk breaks every once in awhile, stopped to say hello to my wife and daughter at their water station, and generally had a very relaxed and pleasant run. And at the finish, I felt good - tired, but not completely spent like I sometimes am when I run really hard. So all that was good, and I'm now in the tapering (or peaking, depending on which term you like) phrase of my training, and I'm feeling ready to go.
Guess that's all for now, so until next time, may your accomplishments be ultra-magnificent, may your gardens remain weed-free, and may your phrases remain short and pithy.
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