One of the guys in my running club, someone I consider a friend, is a very good runner. Earlier this year, he time qualified for the Boston Marathon, demolishing the minimum time by some -minutes or so. Then came out to run 5-miles the following day with the group on our weekly “fun run.” I’ve seen him decide that he’s going to run home from somewhere, when his home is some 30-miles away, and complete the track with an average mile of 8:18 minutes.
He seems to live his personal life diving into interests and hobbies with more verve than I think most people dive into theirs. He’s into pinball, and computers so of course he’s got a pinball game replicator – load up just about any pinball came onto the console and play it. He bought a 30-year old truck on eBay.
I think it’s good to know and appreciate interesting people, because they’re the people I’ve found enrich my life the most. And Bill is an interesting guy.
This weekend, he set out the goal of running the length of a local rail trail up and back twice – I’m pretty sure that if it wasn’t on a whim, then it wasn’t a long held plan to do so. This is a total of roughly 34 miles, not a short jaunt in the woods.
“I did turn around at mile 29 and started heading back to the start, but I said “NO. THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE HARD.” and I turned around and headed to Glenwood. Let things be hard. No matter what happens this week, I can always reflect that I ran 34 miles on Sunday.”
“This is supposed to be hard.” Pushing himself to run another 5 miles AFTER 29 MILES. It’s supposed to be hard to run 20 miles, 26.2 miles. After 29 miles and several hours (this took him 5 hours to complete by the way), he was willing himself to finish another 5-miles because it was hard. I wasn’t going to run until I read that; afterward I got up and ran 13 miles BECAUSE I didn’t want to.
“Let things be hard.” Life isn’t easy. Life isn’t about taking the easy way to get things done. Life is about adventure, and growth, and pushing the boundaries of what you think you can do. Let things be hard. If they’re hard, you’re growing. If they’re hard, you’re expanding your horizons. If things are hard, you are becoming your best you.
I spoke with him at one point in the past week and he was reflecting on a recent run. He couldn’t understand why people would run a hill, stop and walk for a half-minute and then run again. “Just keep pushing,” or something to that effect. “I run behind them and keep pushing silently.” I know why they do that, I *DO* that. Or I did. Since that conversation, I’ve had his words in the back of my head at each point I encounter a hill and I imagine him sidling up behind me, staying there, willing me to keep going. I’ve not stopped since.
Bill is an interesting guy. I’ve never once had a negative conversation with him. He’s a survivor, and he is one of the few people I know who consistently pushes those around him to be better, through both example and word.
Do something today BECAUSE it’s hard. Not EVEN THOUGH it’s hard. BECAUSE it’s hard. Don’t give yourself an excuse not to do it, because it’s supposed to be hard. When it’s done, no matter what else happens, you’ll be able to look back and know you’ve accomplished it.
Going back almost 35 years to 1984, I met some of the people who have been the most important in my life – if not consistently, certainly in intervals, and absolutely over the course of time. The boys I met September 1984 were and have remained some of the most important people in my life since.
The important people in their lives have also become important in mine. We’ve been their for the births of our children, the deaths of our parents, the weddings, the divorces. There have been times of strain in our friendships, and there have been revivals. Guys I have reconnected with as a middle aged adult whom I could not have imagined having considered my friend all those years ago.
And then there is one mom. The mother of of my classmates, and another schoolmate. Dave and I were close in school – good friends up to and through college – but as things go, we’ve gone through ebbs and flows in our friendship. As time goes on, we exchange text messages, but have gone years between actually seeing each other. It’s just time and laziness coming between us, nothing more, but it’s that inertia – the same inertia that has gotten in my way of accomplishing of my fitness goals. He’s not on social media, but his brother and his mom are, and they and I are connected.
His mom was always pretty cool. Younger than most of the moms of our classmates, so of course the object of some consideration: she was (and frankly still is) very pretty. But she’s also, as I’ve come to find, a good soul.
Quietly, over the course of time, she has captioned a series of beautiful pictures with a hashtag, #RefusetoContribute. At one point I asked her about it – perhaps even teasing about the origin, because a quick Google search suggests that no such hashtag has trended. Actually, that same search yields results almost the opposite of the intention:
Donate – Refuse Fascism
Only the people taking to the streets in mass, nonviolent, sustained political mobilization can stop this nightmare!
So, what is the intention? Months before I got fed up with the Manufactured Outrage, she was simply posting pictures of paradise, simple tableaus of treasured scenes. She works that hashtag like a boss, and truly her whole feed is family and love.
Here are a few of her #refusetocontribute pictures
Usually captioned only with the hashtag. A small, silent protest against an increasingly polarized world. Cherishing the small, beautiful moments. One voice in the vast interwebs calling for beauty and peace.
No commentary. No judgement.
Let’s all take some time and refuse to contribute.
I take a lot of inspiration from various social media running clubs, groups, and individuals I’ve met – both “virtually” and “IRL” – from these clubs. I’ve overcome – and continue to work on my goals – a multitude of obstacles to fitness. I’ve had an easier path than many.
I’m a solidly middle class, reasonably well-educated middle aged guy who has some means with which to pursue some extra-curriculars. I spent entirely too long sitting on my butt, letting my cholesterol and my weight get too high. That was my obstacle: the inertia of sloth. Literally. That was it.
Every day, I see stories of the people whose paths I’ve crossed on obstacle courses, or at my running club that make me realize just how privileged I am. Injury, illness. Life getting in the way. There’s the instructor at my workout bootcamp whose credit is crap, and whose car was a victim of a hit and run, trying to figure out how to replace/fix her car while maintaining her ability to commute to her various paying jobs while caring for her son.
So, not long after posting my post on “Manufactured Outrage,” one person I’ve come to know only via social media had one of the most powerful messages I’ve read in some time. He’s a union bridge painter. He paints bridges for a living. He’s also a veteran and an immigrant to the United States and from what I can see an amazing athlete. He’s been at various times laid off, due to the seasonal nature of the work, and as recently been working through injury.
Obviously social media is a highly curated version of reality. I don’t know Olando, I don’t know his day to day. I do know what he puts out into the world, and I’m consistently impressed with his positivity and attitude.
His message to the world via status update was this:
“The best part of my day is knowing that i did enough to provide for my wife and kids.”
I don’t know what his day looked like that caused him to write this, I don’t know what his struggles were, I don’t know if today was a great day for him. I do know he is consistently positive, and this message spoke to me. He is proud that he is providing for his family. We should all be so proud as to shout from the roof tops that we’re providing for our loved ones. I’m consistently impressed with his devotion to his family, his dedication to improving every day. The world could use more people like Olando.
About a month before the last Presidential election, I decided to opt out of the nonsense, opt out of the manufactured outrage, opt out of the negativity and use the remaining days through election day to instead demonstrate reasons why we should be inspired by each other. As you can see from the history of this blog, I’m not always the most inspirational person, not always the happiest, not always the sun-shiniest. I am, however, hardheaded. I refuse to succumb to the manufactured outrage I see everywhere from Sports Illustrated, to the Wall Street Journal, to my Twitter feed.
We’re all angry with each other because we live in our own little echo chambers, we consume the news that confirms our world views. We’re angry with all the things that should be and aren’t; we’re angry with all the things that are that shouldn’t be.
We’re angry that Colin Kaepernick disrespects the flag and military, we’re angry that Colin Kaepernick is out of football because he was protesting racial injustice. We’re angry that Nike has made Kaepernick part of their ad campaign. We’re angry because “they’re” cutting off the Nike Swoosh off the socks that have already been purchased in protest.
We don’t stop to listen and really consider the transformation of the protest: it evolved from sitting during the anthem to kneeling – because it wasn’t about disrespecting the military, it was protesting police violence against minorities. Has there been an increase in violence? Are minorities disproportionately targeted? We don’t get that far into the conversation before we start yelling at each other. Even more than that, though, Kapernick wasn’t going to be the starting Quarterback.
He was going to be benched in favor of Blaine Gabbert; he wasn’t going to be released – the cap hit to the 49ers payroll would have been prohibitive – and he wasn’t going to play. A reasonable person could conclude this could be a ploy to be released more than a social justice statement. As it turned out, he would replace Gabbert 4-weeks into the season, a season in which his team went 1-10 behind him and he sported a 49.5 QB rating…which was actually a slight improvement over his 2015 play. Should he have a place on a roster? Perhaps, but then again there are plenty of second string quarterbacks that don’t ask for the same money – CBS reported before the 2016 season that he was looking for $9-10 Million and a chance to start. Not too many backup QBs make that kind of money and no wonder he didn’t get too many calls. So conspiracy to keep him out of the league, or over-reaching for salary? Perhaps a bit of both – no one side is the carrier of truth here. Sports Illustrated suggested that should his asking price come down and still not get a contract, then there would be questions. Note the if/then: if he lowered his salary expectations, based on his mediocre play the previous couple seasons, THEN the questions about other than football considerations would be valid.
That is a lot to read and process. It doesn’t make for a quick read, or ad slogan.
Of course, Nike has come down on the side of “Social Justice,” by portraying Kaepernick as the warrior truth teller, knowing this would again manufacture outrage on the right. This is a $30-Billion company. This move has been vetted at the highest ranks of the company. The folks most likely to be outraged would be the golfing demographic…a group that had pretty much abandoned the brand by the time Nike Golf got out of the equipment business. The folks most likely to stand behind the company are the people the brand wants to sell to. There’s no fear from losing their NFL exclusivity – they’re locked in for the next 10 years. It’s not rocket science – its pure naked capitalism.
Then there’s Fear, a forthcoming book on the Trump Presidency where the President is reportedly described as unhinged from reality. We’re angry Bob Woodward says Jim Mattis claims the President has the comprehension of a sixth grader; We’re angry Jim Mattis says that’s fake. Just one more cog in the attack on the press, or is it really fiction driven by an agenda driven puppet of the #fakenews? For the record, I believe Woodward’s account: well documented, multiple sources, and no apparent need to bolster his reputation – he could have done nothing more than “All the President’s Men” (1974) and he would be relevant. Mattis? An honorable man, a warrior, and American hero, but a member of the Trump administration – with loyalty to that President. He has reasons to refute the characterization. The book hasn’t even been released and we’re outraged.
So here we are. Figuratively at war with each other. Unmoored from facts and understanding even though we’ve never had greater ability to get information. Having the “facts” and “truth” spun around, warped for us. Unable to hear each other over the competing voices. We’re more interested in being pissed off, than actually listening to each other. So I’m unplugging from the noise.
I’m going to make the effort to find inspiration in the every day. To find exemplars of people who have made a difference, who have overcome, who have contributed to our understanding of the world. I’m opting out of the manufactured outrage, and instead I’m hoping to manufacture a little inspiration and perhaps a little humor or love…or something, anything positive that can push back. Everything does not have to be struggle, Some things do and I’m opting out of the fake ones.
I won’t hold myself to a schedule as I did with my original 28-Days, and I can’t completely opt out and still be a well-informed person. I can, however, call BS when I see it and counter it with something I consider not-BS. I can contribute to a positive conversation. Wouldn’t it be great if we all spent a little less time focused on why we should be outraged, and a little more time focused on how we can make the world a little better place.
I’ve come to really appreciate an active lifestyle. Let’s be clear about something: I really do not like running — the best part of running is the end — but I really do appreciate being able to run. Take yesterday’s Spartan: I really, really liked being able to run the trails, hit the obstacles, and accomplish them. The harder you work in practice, the easier these things are, the more you’re able to do. It’s a great rush to be able to accomplish these things.
And yet today, today I took a vinyasa yoga class, which was wonderful. It was good for the body and the head. I stretched, I bent, I worked the core. For 90-minutes I contorted myself into positions I’m not sure I should have and under most conditions I would have torn something — I’m sure of it.
I had a great day overall: we celebrated my parents-in-law 50th anniversary, spent the day with people I love and came home to a warm home. And yet, my headspace is all off.
Other than yoga, which while awesome for the body and the head, I did something closely approximating nothing today. The yoga is bending and stretching, but it’s not cardio and it’s not moving the body forward. It’s great – I like being able to bend and twist – but I also like to move forward. Somehow today messed with my head. I feel low, and tired, and run down.
I’ve felt this way before, but when I’ve been injured and CAN’T run or be active. And certainly not after one day of inactivity. It’s been ONE Day. ONE. And my head just isn’t right. Tomorrow’s a new day, a new opportunity to get going and be who I want to be. THis week culminates in a 12-hour ultramarathon. Its not like today is every day, it’s only one day, and a good one at that. I’m in a good place, I mean this is someone who has a reasonably privileged life complaining that his head isn’t right after one day of inactivity. I have a good family, I have good health, I have a good life.
But you know, sometimes we have expectations of ourselves and our life that sometimes just don’t live up to reality. Your head has to accept that as much as your body has to. Just like most things in life, though, it doesn’t mean you have to like it, but it does mean you can’t let it mess you up.
I’m trying to internalize that message, and really, really trying to absorb it. One day is not every day. One day is just that: one step on the rest of the journey. No one knows just how long that journey may be, so it’s incumbent to make the most of every day, but you know you also have to give yourself a break and cut yourself some slack.
I mentioned some time back that I was going to run the Marine Corps Marathon as my first (perhaps last, who knows) full-marathon. What I haven’t done is share here what I’m doing with it.
After I decided I would run the race, I decided I wanted it to mean something more – to give back a little bit. The Marine Corps Marathon promotes physical fitness, generates community goodwill, and showcases the organizational skills of the United States Marine Corps. I wanted to do something that would live up to those values and organizational mission.
With that in mind, I reached out to the O’Connell Valor Fund to pair me with a Veteran in need for whom I can raise money and awareness of veteran’s issues. It was important to me to do this on my own terms – not raise money as part of a fundraising commitment for a charity issued a block of entries where the money goes down a rabbit hole. I’m running this using my own funds, paying my own way, and without a set commitment. I do have a fundraising goal, however, and it’s on the basis of that goal that OVF has done amazing work to vet and pair this fund raiser with a veteran in need.
To that end, The O’Connell Valor Fund, Inc. has presented a Veteran for me to sponsor as part of my Marine Corps Marathon fund raising effort.
He is a current era Army Veteran who was medically separated. He has increasing medical needs requiring frequent trips to the Veteran’s Administration (VA) and emergency rooms (ERs). Before this spring, his wife was full time employed in a good profession and his adult son with special needs also contributed financially to the household.
However, earlier this spring, his son committed suicide in the family home. Consider this for a moment and really, really let it sink in.
Given the nature of the her job, she is not able to return to work at this time and an already struggling family is now struggling emotionally, physically and financially. Many agencies have worked very hard with the family in the last few months to help them while they grieve. They are at a place now in which they are willing/needing to move out of their current residence. These agencies are working with them to increase the level of support services from the VA in the home and working with his wife around plans for reentry into the workforce. The family will need additional financial support to help them move and leave the home where the incident took place and move closer to the VA.
And THAT is where my little idea to give a little back is going. These stories are real, this is the story of a very real struggle. I am forever thankful to help make a difference in another life in this way. The tragedy and greatness of this effort is that the O’Connell Valor Fund has many other cases similar to this one and there are many ways to help – everyone, EVERYONE has the opportunity to give back, sometimes you just need to set your mind to making a difference. You don’t have to give a dollar to a nameless, faceless organization or fundraiser. The OVF spends 99% of all received money on the veterans it supports. This is literally helping local.
To help in my fundraising efforts, please visit my fundraising page or, even better, donate directly at the O’Connell Valor Fund website. Thank you for your support, even if that is a share on Facebook. What matters is making a difference.
About the Event: The mission of the Marine Corps Marathon is to promote physical fitness, generate community goodwill and showcase the organizational skills of the United States Marine Corps. Annually ranked as one of the largest marathons in the US and the world, the MCM has been recognized as “Best Marathon in the Mid-Atlantic,” “Best for Families” and “Best for Beginners.” Runners from all 50 states and more than 50 countries participate in the MCM and an annual calendar of events including the Marine Corps Historic Half in Fredericksburg, VA in May and the MCM Event Series conducted aboard Marine Corps Base Quantico. Organized by the men and women of the United States Marine Corps, the MCM is the largest marathon in the world that doesn’t offer prize money, instead celebrating the honor, courage and commitment of all finishers.
About the O’Connell Valor Fund:
Our goal is simple – help our U.S. Military heroes, next-of-kin, and families better cope with daily life so they can heal with some peace of mind knowing basic essentials are covered. This might include a monthly utility bill payment, groceries for the week, making sure their child’s birthday is a little extra special, and many other basic essentials many of us take for granted. Please donate whatever you can using the Donate link above. Thank you! The O’Connell Valor Fund, Inc.
Contributions made to this campaign are tax-deductible.
First, please excuse the late posting for this. I’ve been away and frankly, haven’t wanted to go out of my way to post. This was THE WORST race ever. Hands down. I mean the course was beautiful, but the result – ugh, for more than a few reasons it was terrible.
At the start of the race — 6:30 AM — it was 73 degrees, and I’m guessing no less than 85% humidity. I was already feeling a tad under the weather during and after the TVRC race on Thursday, but on Friday it hit me full on. I was huffing and puffing for the 5-miler, and I’m not at all convinced I didn’t slurp down some wonderful allergens and/or mold spores or something because Friday I woke up with a 100-degree temperature and coughing up lungies like you might read about. I spent the night on Friday coughing and gakking and wishing for sweet death.
This was going to be a S-show of a race and I really only had two options: DNS or just do it. I chose “Just Do It.”
Leading up to this week, my goal was 1:50. I was feeling pretty confident that after all my tweaks and dings and dents I was at the other side and could pull off a decent time here. With the phlegm and general lack of ability to breathe on race day, I was pretty sure that wasn’t going to happen but I was still hopeful that I would best my worst half time, I mean this was a pretty flat course, ocean front with a generally cool breeze, but no. The combination of the humidity and the sick-death-pneumonia-black-plague I was suffering wasn’t going to allow anything remotely resembling a respectable time.
I started with the 1:45 pacer and quickly fell behind. That said it wasn’t until perhaps the 9th or 10th mile, where there was a turnaround in Colt State Park that I saw the 2:00 pacer on the other side of the street heading the opposite way that I realized I was completely screwed.
My running dynamics were reasonably on point – 172 spm average is not far off where I wanted to be at 180, but my stride was terrible and my heart rate was terrible and life was terrible and everything sucks.
ALL OF THAT SAID, My time was my worst half ever. Straight up. No doubt. No excuses.
BUT, it turns out that comparatively, I didn’t have as bad a day as I may have. I mean I have some mitigating circumstances — so does everyone else — but despite my shitty time, I finished about where I would normally finish percentage wise, perhaps a little slower than I may have expected, but overall Dead in the middle. 50.6% for my age.
I had a shitty race. No doubt. But it looks like a lot of other folks had a shitty race too, and I have to imagine not all of them were sick. My race buddy Mike, who was shooting for a 1:45 finished with 2:01, so I know I don’t completely suck.
This will be a redemption race next year, I’m sure, but for now, the humiliation of having put some 3000 miles on my odometer since my first half and this one and finishing 6-minutes slower stings. Worst. Half. Ever. Redemption will be forthcoming.
Thích Quảng Đức was a Buddhist monk who on June 10, 1963 led a procession of monks to an intersection a few blocks from the South Vietnamese presidential palace, assumed the lotus position where an associate poured gasoline over his head. He recited a homage to Buddha and subsequently lit himself on fire in protest.
I never fully comprehended why a man of faith would willingly take his life. Indeed, in Buddhism, life is precious and its destruction is to be avoided. But then again, my own world view is that of a Western Christian, and Christianity’s view on suicide is very clear. Buddhism doesn’t work with absolutes. According to one author, Buddhism sees human birth “as incredibly precious, an opportunity not to be wasted. That the human predicament includes stress and suffering is the First Noble Truth; the Second, Third and Fourth Noble Truths guide our relationship to that suffering.”
But I see here, Quảng Đức was not escaping from suffering or stress. He was drawing the worlds’ attention to the ignoble condition of the Buddhist population in South Vietnam – a country that was then 90% Buddhist and ruled by a Catholic minority, intolerant of the Buddhist world view. “Not to be wasted” is not the same as “having ended.” It makes sense in a way: Catholics are very black and white about life and death, about subservience to authority and hierarchy; Buddhists tend to be more complacent, willing to accept their lot. Where Christianity is very much ordered around the ten commandments – concrete rules not to be violated – Buddhism is ordered around four noble truths, guides without much in the way or explanation. In Christianity we’re taught “right from wrong;” In Buddhism the meaning of Right includes an ethical, and a balanced, or middle way.
So, why would the practitioner of a religion teaching life as incredibly precious and the destruction of which is to be avoided, self immolate in protest? The middle way.
The idea that he wasn’t escaping suffering, but rather he was embracing suffering in hopes of bettering the lot of those of his countrymen.
What was shocking to the rest of the world – his ability to remain in lotus. In The Making of a Quagmire, David Halberstam wrote “…As he burned he never moved a muscle, never uttered a sound, his outward composure in sharp contrast to the wailing people around him…” He had accepted his suffering, embraced it.
The Four Noble Truths liberate people from suffering. Here they are from Lionsroar.com
Life always involves suffering, in obvious and subtle forms. Even when things seem good, we always feel an undercurrent of anxiety and uncertainty inside.
2. The Cause of Suffering
The cause of suffering is craving and fundamental ignorance. We suffer because of our mistaken belief that we are a separate, independent, solid “I.” The painful and futile struggle to maintain this delusion of ego is known as samsara, or cyclic existence.
3. The End of Suffering
The good news is that our obscurations are temporary. They are like passing clouds that obscure the sun of our enlightened nature, which is always present. Therefore, suffering can end because our obscurations can be purified and awakened mind is always available to us.
4. The Path
By living ethically, practicing meditation, and developing wisdom, we can take exactly the same journey to enlightenment and freedom from suffering that the buddhas do. We too can wake up.
So, by immolating himself, he was actually freeing himself and his countrymen from suffering. Reread that passage from David Halberstam: “…As he burned he never moved a muscle, never uttered a sound…” Suffering people do not sit still. He had let go of the samsara, that belief that he was separate from others. He gave up this existence and its suffering: to be sure, he believed in reincarnation – that he would return to the earth in another form, and not to be sent to an afterlife to sit before judgement.
The Catholics in charge of the country could not comprehend why he had done what he did because they believed in an absolute prohibition on suicide, and in the certainty of sitting before God’s judgement. When Quảng Đức’s action did not yield immediate results, several other monks self-immolated as well. Interestingly enough it was not the leadership of South Vietnam who came to understand, but rather the rest of the world, horrified by what was now happening, pushed the government to action.
Now that I’ve described my understanding of what happened on that day, I want to share a video taken of the event.
At a time where public protest was not the norm, at a time video recording was a novelty – if not luxury – there is a video recording of it. Think of what a video recorder in 1963 would have looked like – as the first 75 seconds of the movie show, it must’ve been large and bulky, and judging from the angle, frowned upon by the authorities. We see the thousand or so protesters encircling the monk, jostling perhaps for a better view, and the authorities pushing them back.
I can’t help but to think how this man was about to light himself on fire for these people, people who clearly had not reached the level of enlightenment he had – likely people with less strength of belief as his, or less commitment. The protest was allowed to continue, even as the police would have seen the gasoline being poured over his head; perhaps it wasn’t immediately obvious to them that was, in fact, gasoline.
The most powerful moment of that recording occurs at about 2:07 – the moment he lights the match. It’s as if everything else STOPS. The jostling stops. The police turn away from the throngs of people to face him, to a man their arms and hands by their sides: Respect? Awe? Disbelief?
By 2:25 or so you can see clearly how accurately Halberstam reported his lack of movement: it’s not for another 30-seconds of the video before his now charred remains fall over. Halberstam notes just how quickly a human body will burn, so bearing in mind the footage has been slowed down, in real time some the gathered crowd would have begun immediately bowing on hands and knees and this would have been over in a matter of seconds.
As with any telling of story, I’m quite sure there is so much nuance and fact missing from the account. That’s not really what this post is about though. It’s about the strength of mind and purpose, of self control and selflessness, of belief to be able to make a decision you believe to be the middle way – one coming from a place of enlightenment – even if it means putting yourself in harms way, giving yourself up for the good of the majority.
I will remember this lesson just how much the mind controls our perception of the world, how it controls our sensations. How it can allow a man literally burn to death without so much as flinching. I will remember this the next time I am faced with a challenge I don’t believe I can complete.
I’m just going to say it: it’s a stretch to call this a race at all. It’s the least competitive “race” you’ll see recapped here. Arguably it’s not truly a race at all: “a competition between runners, horses, vehicles, boats, etc., to see which is the fastest in covering a set course.” Early on when I started keeping track of such things I decided I would define a race as more than one person was running and that it met at least two of the following criteria: 1) the event has a given course; 2) the effort was timed; 3) there was a bib or that there was some formal means by which runners are kept track of. THIS “race” barely qualifies this criteria. Basically, it had a course (Kinda. It was loosely cordoned off by cones on one side – Stay to the right of the cones!) and we got finishers medals. They do check you in, but that was more to account for the event T-shirts (of which they were out of my size) and to distribute wave bracelets.
So, the obvious question is: if you’re going to goof on the thing, why did you sign up for it? A solid question indeed. A high-school classmate mentioned he had signed up with his daughters and it looked like a fun time. I recruited my boy, found a Groupon, bought in. Look, worst case scenario was that we’d have a fun time. I’m here to say that mission was accomplished. It was fun.
Now, don’t get me wrong. This was low rent. $27 on Groupon, $27 at the official registration page, but that excluded the registration “fee” tacked on as a percentage of the cost of a ticket – buying a Groupon essentially tells the registration site to “comp” the registration so there’s no fee. It took place on an auto race track site; they hold flea markets and other such things on the grounds. The race itself used the track’s overflow parking area. The inflatables were basically elements from shopping mall parking lot carnivals: not quite fully inflated, perhaps a little suspect. The biggest threat of injury was friction burn from the vinyl inflatables.
It was a super casual time, but generally organized. They did a pretty good job of keeping the starting wave organized – what could have been a crushing disaster was kept organized and safe. The inflatable obstacles were placed at reasonable distances – there weren’t an over-abundance of them but there were enough. Lines weren’t bunched up and things moved quickly.
It wasn’t quite 2-miles – again, the competitive thing – which was probably a good thing: the temperature was in the mid-to high-70’s with humidity around 85%. The air was pretty thick and saturated with pollen. They could have done a lot more with the festival area – they had an Italian Ice truck.
So, I haven’t described the most appealing event, have I? Here’s the thing: I had a good time with my boy with the added benefit of seeing my old friend. I went in expecting a low-rent, casual, mostly-fun event. It met those expectations.
I don’t have results information, because…well, because. That whole time thing. My watch had it done in about 34 minutes.
At various points, I’ve fancied myself a bit of a writer. Really, just a whim, a passing interest that occasionally loops around again – more the way a curiosity catches one’s attention every so often, more than any real interest. Perhaps a means to an end when the spirit moves me to communicate an idea or information more than any particular interest. I don’t even know what the point of this post is.
I deal in quantity, volume. I’m a purveyor of words. Words are tools. My main goal is getting the idea out, push it to words, organize it in some manner, shape or form, get it done, move along. I’ll sometimes have a draft sit for a bit, but its a rarity that it ever sees the light of day. Just to show my commitment to the process, I’ll sometimes even go back and re-read a post once – perhaps even twice – after I’ve posted it. Sometimes. Generally speaking once it’s fully out of my head, I hit “Publish…” and away we go, usually not to revisit it again.
Then there are people like my friend David. He’s considered, often poetic. He says what he means, deliberates over every comma, every phrase. Endlessly revises. Words are beautiful and exquisite materials with which to build stories. By the time he pushes that friendly blue “Publish…” button, his work is as exacting as one would expect of a trained writer – one who doesn’t just fancy himself a writer, but one who is actually a writer, an expert wordsmith. Because, well, because he is a trained writer. He gives the impression of a person who not only speaks in well-thought out paragraphs, but thinks in paragraphs. The difference between my work and his is the difference between a framing carpenter and a finish carpenter.
In light of my previous post, I’d like to be clear that I’m not complimenting him at my own expense. His blog is something different from this one, his style is different from mine, his purpose is vastly different. I use words to communicate some ideas; he uses words to tell stories and paint pictures. He paints a picture of his father; I talk about the lessons my dad taught me. Just really different vibes. I read or listen to (audio books are ahh-maaaay-zing things) no less than 30 books a year, but since I left high school, I can count on one hand the number of novels I’ve read; I’m willing to bet his ratio is more a reciprocal of that than not.
It’s a good thing there are more than 300,000 books published every year in the United States – something for everyone. By the time I press that friendly blue “Publish…” button on this post, the number of blog posts published today will be more than 2.7-Million and counting. A good number are rubbish, but I have to believe a plurality are posted by well-meaning folks with solid things to say. I also have to believe most are purveyors in words – more like me than like David. “Just get it out.” There are the hucksters, building blogs to convey topics and information designed to get you to subscribe so they can make money, unlike either this one or “willwriteforfood,” but I’m also quite sure most of the people who press that friendly blue button are legitimately seeking to express themselves.
Here’s what I’ve come to find: the people who stick with it, the folks who keep coming back – no matter the interval in which they come back – to bang on their keyboard and hit that friendly blue button are the people that actually have things to say, like another friend of mine. Some ten years and 2000 posts later, he still cranks it out.
There is just so many options out there, that if you’re pushing these things out for a reason other than the sheer enjoyment of writing, the need to read your thoughts written out, the desire to convey thoughts, you’re just setting yourself up and wasting your time. The odds of making money on a blog are remote. You’re not going to get famous. Not even for a minute. Just do what you do without expectation. You’ll be happier for it. If its not a labor of love, then you’re just wasting your and (perhaps more importantly) your readers’ time.
This fulfills my need for a place to dump my thoughts and words; for David his blog fulfills a need to paint pictures with his words. Thanks for being here and indulging my words. There are millions of other posts dated just today to which you could give your attention and a fraction of those 300,000 books published yearly you could tackle. I don’t know why you’re reading this, only that you are, and I appreciate that. If you’re an aspiring writer, perhaps you’ve got some inspiration. If you’re someone who just surfs blogs, fantastic. I hope you come back. There are so many options and choices and directions to go that I hope I’ve provided something of what you came here to find.