Lately the major occupier of my free time has been preparing for and thinking about Ironman racing. Honestly I’d like to figure out how Ironman is a metaphor for life or how racing these things cures incurable diseases or something, but as of yet they are simply a selfish time bandit that leaves my house messy and my manuscripts half-written. I lot of athletes run for a cause, me I keep my causes and my Ironmans separate. A few months ago my father-in-law was telling me how a lady came to his doorstep asking for a donation because she was going to do the three day cancer walk. He said that he told her “mow my yard and I’ll give you fifty bucks, you can keep it or you can give it to cancer research.” She just walked away.
The more I think about it, the more that sounds like a good idea. Instead of having a cancer walk where folks just waste calories walking around a city, why don’t they have a cancer mow. The participants would expend the same calories but in the end they would have something to show for it.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
The Good and the Bad
I suppose for every ying there must be a yang, the good and the bad, the bitter and the sweet. Lately I’ve been reading some of the “classics,” and just completed Robert Lewis Stevenson’s Treasure Island. Prior to that I tried, I mean I really tried, to wade through the absolute worst book I’ve ever had the misfortune to come across: Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged.
I like books that are what they are and nothing else, and Treasure Island is an awesome tale of adventure - that’s it nothing else, nothing more. A mysterious old seaman, a treasure map, a double crossing pirate, a marooned sailor, an arrogant doctor and a stoic captain all give the young Jim Hawkins enough adventure – and riches – to last a lifetime. If you didn’t have to read it in school I recommend picking it up.
On the other hand, Ayn Rand’s nine hundred plus pages of cartoonish characters and unreal reality makes for one eye roll after the other. I’m sure that a lot of Rand fans would scream “oh you left winger you just don’t like the tale of rugged individualism,” but my argument is not with the story – stupid as it is – my problem is that the writing just plain sucks. The characters are flat – without any dimension or depth whatsoever - the dialogue could have been written by a fifth grader and the shallow silly world in which the story takes place makes Harry Potter seem realistic. Ayn Rand’s deep misunderstanding of the real world makes me wonder how she even managed to go to the grocery store for a bottle of milk. I suppose Ayn Rand gives all of us struggling writers hope: if that junk can get published well maybe – just maybe.
I like books that are what they are and nothing else, and Treasure Island is an awesome tale of adventure - that’s it nothing else, nothing more. A mysterious old seaman, a treasure map, a double crossing pirate, a marooned sailor, an arrogant doctor and a stoic captain all give the young Jim Hawkins enough adventure – and riches – to last a lifetime. If you didn’t have to read it in school I recommend picking it up.
On the other hand, Ayn Rand’s nine hundred plus pages of cartoonish characters and unreal reality makes for one eye roll after the other. I’m sure that a lot of Rand fans would scream “oh you left winger you just don’t like the tale of rugged individualism,” but my argument is not with the story – stupid as it is – my problem is that the writing just plain sucks. The characters are flat – without any dimension or depth whatsoever - the dialogue could have been written by a fifth grader and the shallow silly world in which the story takes place makes Harry Potter seem realistic. Ayn Rand’s deep misunderstanding of the real world makes me wonder how she even managed to go to the grocery store for a bottle of milk. I suppose Ayn Rand gives all of us struggling writers hope: if that junk can get published well maybe – just maybe.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Stuff
Andrew Carnegie said that one should spend the first half of one’s life acquiring wealth and the second half giving it away (or at least something like that), well it seems like I’ve spent the first half of my life acquiring “stuff” and now it’s time to get rid of it. Downsizing certainly has been an eye opening experience. Honestly I can’t believe how much stuff I’ve collected in the twenty years since I loaded the trunk if an ’82 Malibu and drove west from Des Moines, Iowa. Over the past two weeks I’ve thrown away over five times the amount of “stuff” I started here with.
I must admit that tossing that “stuff” over the chain at the transfer station is a cathartic experience. It’s like I can feel the weight being lifted. You trade a little bit of your freedom for every item of “stuff” you acquire. Like it or not you have a responsibility to everything that you own: you have to maintain it, store it, lock it, etcetera, etcetera, and the more responsibilities you have the less freedom you posses. Some responsibilities, such and family and friends, are good: I’ll take a little less freedom in order to enjoy the benefits of great family and friends, but
what about trading freedom for “stuff.”
Whether you call it “the Man,” “the Machine,” or whatever else, I do believe that there is a concerted effort among advertisers and corporations to convince us to trade freedom for “stuff.” They want us to believe that their “stuff” will make us happier than we were when we didn’t have their “stuff.” They want us to believe that whatever little freedom you had to give up in order to acquire their stuff was worth it, that it was a good trade. In most cases I’d say that it probably wasn’t.
Now that I have this point of view I look at every acquisition with a new light. Instead of thinking “how is this thing going to help me,” I think “how is thing going to affect what little freedom I have left.” The miniscule dose of freedom that I have left must be preserved at all costs.
I must admit that tossing that “stuff” over the chain at the transfer station is a cathartic experience. It’s like I can feel the weight being lifted. You trade a little bit of your freedom for every item of “stuff” you acquire. Like it or not you have a responsibility to everything that you own: you have to maintain it, store it, lock it, etcetera, etcetera, and the more responsibilities you have the less freedom you posses. Some responsibilities, such and family and friends, are good: I’ll take a little less freedom in order to enjoy the benefits of great family and friends, but
what about trading freedom for “stuff.”Whether you call it “the Man,” “the Machine,” or whatever else, I do believe that there is a concerted effort among advertisers and corporations to convince us to trade freedom for “stuff.” They want us to believe that their “stuff” will make us happier than we were when we didn’t have their “stuff.” They want us to believe that whatever little freedom you had to give up in order to acquire their stuff was worth it, that it was a good trade. In most cases I’d say that it probably wasn’t.
Now that I have this point of view I look at every acquisition with a new light. Instead of thinking “how is this thing going to help me,” I think “how is thing going to affect what little freedom I have left.” The miniscule dose of freedom that I have left must be preserved at all costs.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Rules Rules Rules
I’ve been reading Brad Warner’s book Zen Wrapped in Karma Dipped in Chocolate: it’s a good overview of Zen philosophy applied to the real world. I’m not signing up for any Zen retreats just yet, but I do find the Zen philosophy intriguing. It seems to fit my no religion is the best religion mode of thinking. Anyway while reading Mr. Warner’s book I came across the Ten Precepts of the Dogen Sangha school of Zen Buddhism. Here they are:
1. Don’t destroy life.
2. Don’t steal.
3. Don’t desire too much.
4. Don’t lie.
5. Don’t live by selling liquor.
6. Don’t discuss the failures of Buddhist monks and of laypeople.
7. Don’t praise yourself or berate others.
8. Don’t begrudge the sharing of the Buddhist teachings and other things.
9. Don’t become angry.
10. Don’t abuse the three supreme values: Buddha, the Awakened One; Dharma, the true teachings; and Sangha, the community of Buddhists.
I was struck by how similar these are to the Mike McGuffin Three Rules:
1. Don’t take what isn’t yours.
2. Tell the truth.
3. Don’t harm anyone or anything.
And Two Truths:
1. Nothing is fair.
2. Nothing is free.
I think I need to add Zen Rules 3 (Don’t desire too much) and 9 (Don’t become angry) to the McGuffin three.
1. Don’t destroy life.
2. Don’t steal.
3. Don’t desire too much.
4. Don’t lie.
5. Don’t live by selling liquor.
6. Don’t discuss the failures of Buddhist monks and of laypeople.
7. Don’t praise yourself or berate others.
8. Don’t begrudge the sharing of the Buddhist teachings and other things.
9. Don’t become angry.
10. Don’t abuse the three supreme values: Buddha, the Awakened One; Dharma, the true teachings; and Sangha, the community of Buddhists.
I was struck by how similar these are to the Mike McGuffin Three Rules:
1. Don’t take what isn’t yours.
2. Tell the truth.
3. Don’t harm anyone or anything.
And Two Truths:
1. Nothing is fair.
2. Nothing is free.
I think I need to add Zen Rules 3 (Don’t desire too much) and 9 (Don’t become angry) to the McGuffin three.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Mercer Half - Take One
I met a guy last Tuesday at Sam’s cross country meet who’d knocked of fifteen Ironman races, a few ultras, including a fifty miler, and numerous marathons, and he said that the Mercer Island Half Marathon is the most difficult race he’d ever run. Well now that I live on Mercer Island and my house is only fifty yards from the course I decided yesterday afternoon that I’d better check out what all the hub bub is about. According to my bike odometer from my door, around the island and back is 13.1 miles – a half marathon - easy enough. So I had a big corned beef and coppa ham sandwich at 12:30 and then took off at 1:00; I was going to regret my dietary choice.
I took off feeling really full and somewhat slushy in the stomach, but I figured I could run through the early digestive phase and things would get better. I did take along a quart water bottle. I came around the south end of the island at a good clip and then started up the west side (as a side note I did flag down a lady who rode by me with her bike helmet on backwards – “sorry I don’t want to embarrass you but your helmet is on backwards”). At mile seven I was tempted to turn right and climb the hill over the island, essentially shortcutting the route by a few miles. My stomach was feeling queasy and consequently I wasn’t taking on much of my nutrition drink, so in hindsight I see that prudence would have been the wisest decision of the day. I’m neither wise nor prude, so onward I went.
I kept a strong pace across the north end of the island and made it to the city hall, it must be about mile ten, in one hour eleven minutes. I figured once I hit East Mercer I could ease up the pace and even if I ran ten minute miles I’d be home in under an hour forty five – not bad for coming off the couch onto a tough course. I made it to the ShoreClub where I had total shutdown. I mean I was so messed up I could barely walk straight. Never before has this happened. I won’t gore you with the bodily function details, but it wasn’t pretty.
I was now faced with the need to hustle three miles home in order to meet Sophia when she gets off of the bus. I was doubled over more than once. I made it just as Sophia’s bus was rounding the corner, I told Sam to go get his sister and I went straight to the bathroom. As it was Wednesday I had five minutes to recover before I had to drive Sophia fifteen miles to piano lessons. I couldn’t cancel as I’d done that the week before and her high school teacher gave me a good dressing down about cancelling without a twenty four hour notice. Actually she was very nice and respectful about it, but the first version is funnier. Anyway I changed and got in the car.
My hands were shaking and I could barely get the clutch in. One minute I felt like I had to puke, the next like I had to crap, I was sweating, shaking, in other words miserable and with no business behind the wheel. I did manage to drop Sophie off and then went to the Safeway to buy some Squirt, which I figured that might help my stomach. In the store I had to use the bathroom and began to worry that I might pass out behind this locked door; that would be embarrassing, so I struggled to stay cool. I got out, grabbed two bottles of soda and headed for the express checkout. Well I got behind a cashier who felt like she needed to discuss every little detail of the fourteen items the lady in front of me was buying. I about told her that either she picks up the pace or I puke on her shoes.
Sitting in the shade drinking the Squirt helped me a little bit, but it was still touch and go picking up Sophia and getting home. I walked in the door and hit the couch- I’d made it. It took me another four hours to even begin feeling normal again.
Whether it was a bad lunch choice or the eighty five degree weather or something else I don’t know, but whatever happened had never happened before. I’ve never shut down like that. Weird.
I took off feeling really full and somewhat slushy in the stomach, but I figured I could run through the early digestive phase and things would get better. I did take along a quart water bottle. I came around the south end of the island at a good clip and then started up the west side (as a side note I did flag down a lady who rode by me with her bike helmet on backwards – “sorry I don’t want to embarrass you but your helmet is on backwards”). At mile seven I was tempted to turn right and climb the hill over the island, essentially shortcutting the route by a few miles. My stomach was feeling queasy and consequently I wasn’t taking on much of my nutrition drink, so in hindsight I see that prudence would have been the wisest decision of the day. I’m neither wise nor prude, so onward I went.
I kept a strong pace across the north end of the island and made it to the city hall, it must be about mile ten, in one hour eleven minutes. I figured once I hit East Mercer I could ease up the pace and even if I ran ten minute miles I’d be home in under an hour forty five – not bad for coming off the couch onto a tough course. I made it to the ShoreClub where I had total shutdown. I mean I was so messed up I could barely walk straight. Never before has this happened. I won’t gore you with the bodily function details, but it wasn’t pretty.
I was now faced with the need to hustle three miles home in order to meet Sophia when she gets off of the bus. I was doubled over more than once. I made it just as Sophia’s bus was rounding the corner, I told Sam to go get his sister and I went straight to the bathroom. As it was Wednesday I had five minutes to recover before I had to drive Sophia fifteen miles to piano lessons. I couldn’t cancel as I’d done that the week before and her high school teacher gave me a good dressing down about cancelling without a twenty four hour notice. Actually she was very nice and respectful about it, but the first version is funnier. Anyway I changed and got in the car.
My hands were shaking and I could barely get the clutch in. One minute I felt like I had to puke, the next like I had to crap, I was sweating, shaking, in other words miserable and with no business behind the wheel. I did manage to drop Sophie off and then went to the Safeway to buy some Squirt, which I figured that might help my stomach. In the store I had to use the bathroom and began to worry that I might pass out behind this locked door; that would be embarrassing, so I struggled to stay cool. I got out, grabbed two bottles of soda and headed for the express checkout. Well I got behind a cashier who felt like she needed to discuss every little detail of the fourteen items the lady in front of me was buying. I about told her that either she picks up the pace or I puke on her shoes.
Sitting in the shade drinking the Squirt helped me a little bit, but it was still touch and go picking up Sophia and getting home. I walked in the door and hit the couch- I’d made it. It took me another four hours to even begin feeling normal again.
Whether it was a bad lunch choice or the eighty five degree weather or something else I don’t know, but whatever happened had never happened before. I’ve never shut down like that. Weird.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Acquisition
Twenty years ago I moved to Seattle with what I could fit in the back seat of an ’82 Chevy Malibu, now I can’t fit it all into two major U-Hauls and a pair of moving vans. I shouldn’t say moving vans as they were moving semi trucks. The amount of “stuff” that I’ve acquired is unreasonable, but I wasn’t able diagnose this unreasonability (if that’s not a word it should be) until I took all my “stuff” from one place to another.
We moved from a large house in the burbs to a small house on Mercer Island for many reasons, many of which came from reading James Howard Kunslter’s book The Long Emergency, and now we’re trying to fit ten pounds of crap into a five pound bag. Bottom line is that it just ain’t all gonna fit. Going to have to purge, which is no easy feat for a guy who places significant sentimental value on delivery boxes.
Leaving the comfort of good neighbors and friends was tough, but in the end I believe that we’ve made the right decision. Simplifying, downsizing and compacting one’s life is a good thing. Dream big, live small that’s my new motto.
We moved from a large house in the burbs to a small house on Mercer Island for many reasons, many of which came from reading James Howard Kunslter’s book The Long Emergency, and now we’re trying to fit ten pounds of crap into a five pound bag. Bottom line is that it just ain’t all gonna fit. Going to have to purge, which is no easy feat for a guy who places significant sentimental value on delivery boxes.
Leaving the comfort of good neighbors and friends was tough, but in the end I believe that we’ve made the right decision. Simplifying, downsizing and compacting one’s life is a good thing. Dream big, live small that’s my new motto.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Born to Run - Again
Lately I’ve been pondering this whole Ironman/marathon running gig that I’ve thrown myself into: is it healthy, is it purposeful, but unfortunately have come up with no major revelations. Luckily, however, Christopher McDougall, a Michael Pollanesqe writer, has also been pondering similar questions and has come up with some revelations. In his book, Born to Run http://www.thedailyshow.com/full-episodes/246907/tue-august-18-2009-christopher-mcdougall, McDougall studies the Tarrahumara Indians of Northern Mexico to find out how they are able to run one hundred plus miles with apparent ease. What he finds is that these guys just love to run; they are not mutants with superhuman strength and stamina, they are just regular guys who enjoy bounding from rock to rock at the miles pass beneath their sandal clad feet.
I’ve been running for nigh on thirty years now and though I’ve had some good times I can’t exactly say I find running joyful, that is until last Monday, and all it took was a change in attitude. We were coming home from working on the cabin when I had Melony drop me off about seven, maybe eight miles from home. I figured a nice late afternoon run would be good after a weekend of pounding nails and sawing boards. The weather was nice - mid sixties scuddy clouds – the farms in the Snoqualmie Valley were in full bloom and from the very first step I made a conscious decision to “run happy.” I smiled the whole time, kept a nice even pace and stopped to pick blueberries, and even an apple, when I got a little hungry.
I reached the turn to my house way too early so I took a little detour through the woods. Coming up from McDonald Park required the ascent of a hill that nears cliff status but I just kept smil’n and strid’n and pushed right up no problem. I’m familiar with the trails that exit near my house because I used to mountain bike this area a lot, but now that the exit closest to home has been blocked off by development I had to venture onto unchartered territory. I kept heading north, or at least what I thought was north with the idea that I’d have to come out of the woods some time. After about twenty minutes of wandering around I popped out at the end of some road. I figured that the road had to go somewhere so I just followed it a couple three miles until it ran into the main road. I was about two miles downhill from home, no problem, this was a “fun run” and so I just motored on up. Fifteen seconds after setting foot in my driveway the hail storm hit. Sometimes you get lucky.
I learned that running only sucks if you make it suck. We humans are born to run, our ancestors didn’t live to run, they ran to live, all we have to do is awaken those memories.
I’ve been running for nigh on thirty years now and though I’ve had some good times I can’t exactly say I find running joyful, that is until last Monday, and all it took was a change in attitude. We were coming home from working on the cabin when I had Melony drop me off about seven, maybe eight miles from home. I figured a nice late afternoon run would be good after a weekend of pounding nails and sawing boards. The weather was nice - mid sixties scuddy clouds – the farms in the Snoqualmie Valley were in full bloom and from the very first step I made a conscious decision to “run happy.” I smiled the whole time, kept a nice even pace and stopped to pick blueberries, and even an apple, when I got a little hungry.
I reached the turn to my house way too early so I took a little detour through the woods. Coming up from McDonald Park required the ascent of a hill that nears cliff status but I just kept smil’n and strid’n and pushed right up no problem. I’m familiar with the trails that exit near my house because I used to mountain bike this area a lot, but now that the exit closest to home has been blocked off by development I had to venture onto unchartered territory. I kept heading north, or at least what I thought was north with the idea that I’d have to come out of the woods some time. After about twenty minutes of wandering around I popped out at the end of some road. I figured that the road had to go somewhere so I just followed it a couple three miles until it ran into the main road. I was about two miles downhill from home, no problem, this was a “fun run” and so I just motored on up. Fifteen seconds after setting foot in my driveway the hail storm hit. Sometimes you get lucky.
I learned that running only sucks if you make it suck. We humans are born to run, our ancestors didn’t live to run, they ran to live, all we have to do is awaken those memories.
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