Thursday, June 28, 2012

An Interview with the Yogger -- Part 1

Below is part 1 in what may be a 2 or even 3 part series of interview questions for the yogger about his Western States yog last weekend.  If anyone has any questions they wish to ask, please do so in the comments.  I have a few follow-up questions which I will present to the yogger along with any of yours for part 2.

1. How did the weather affect you during the race?  Were you prepared for it?  Did it surprise you?  When did weather stop being your enemy and start becoming your friend?  How were the temps in the canyons?

 It was uncomfortably cold until a bit beyond Robinson and my hands didn't really thaw until Dusty Corners.  It kept me from ever really feeling like I was in a comfortable groove during this stretch of the race, but I'm not sure how much it really affected the pace.  I was aware of the forecast so it wasn't that suprising, and I've certainly yogged in worse so it wasn't overwhelming, it just sucked.  After Dusty Corners the weather was amazing.  The canyons were downright balmy. 

2. Were you lonely at all on the course?  Or did you enjoy running solo?  Did you pair up with anyone?  Did you ever harbor hopes of crushing Arbogast?  Did you get any motivation from any of the people running near you?

I wasn't lonely.  Being alone allowed me to berate myself audibly without fear of frightening the normal people.  I tended to be much more conservative on the downhills than most people around me and do a lot more running up the hills, so I didn't naturally pair up with anyone.  I never thought about Arbogast.  She's out of my league.  I was motivated by a middle aged gentleman who blew by me shortly after Robinson Flat.  He was tall, probably an inch or two taller than me, bulkier upper body and calves even smaller than mine.  He was a great reminder of my utter lack of viable excuses. 

3. How did your thoughts about the silver buckle 24 hour cutoff change over the course of the day?  When did you know you earned it?

A little after Robinson Flat when I was already feeling the pounding on my legs and still had a really long way to go I thought about the silver buckle and got really emotional and choked up.  It was the first and only time I ever thought that way.  One I got to the top of Devil's Thumb I knew everything would be fine.  I just had to use gravity to get down El Dorado to get past the halfway point, I was really looking forward to seeing everyone at Michigan Bluff, and from there I knew it was just a very doable series of aid station to aid station stretches that I was very familiar with. 

4. What role did your parents play leading up to the race and on race day?  How helpful was it to have family around for this experience?

They were amazingly helpful in taking care of Maya so I could actually do the pre yog stuff that I needed to take care of.  They weren't very familiar with ultrayogging, so I enjoyed introducing them to this nutty subculture and hope they enjoyed a Tahoe vacation too.   

5. Did you think about Maya during the race?  Do you think she will beat your time one day?

I looked forward to seeing her several times, although I kept in mind that she'd have no idea what was going on and my hoping to hear her exclaim "DADDY!" was an entirely egocentric wish.  I hope Maya has several actually fun athletic experiences before ever considering ultrayogging, but on the other hand it would be great if she someday takes an interest in the event.  If she has a single iota of talent she will crush my time, but if she does get in, I'd hope to race against her, and you'd better believe that I would have every intention of outkicking her on the final straight away. 

6. You've never been properly paced before, except half of the headlands 50 by the American Hero.  How did your expert team of pacers affect your frame of mind during the race?

Dr E made a practice of leading and continually dropping me.  It was frustrating at times but I also appreciated the tactic as it kept me focused and working.  I felt bad because I was entering a mental fog that I still haven't quite come out of and I couldn't contribute much to the conversation attempts.  My split to the river wasn't very good, but was also a little better than the clock would indicate because of the long shoe/sock change post Foresthill, and Dr E did a great job of getting out of me what I was capable of. 

The American Hero is a tremendous pacer.  He took command of the nutrition, switched leading and following at just the right times, and pretty much let me continue to sink into a delirium while still moving as well as I could and not get lost. 

The Suffer Seeker had the interesting strategy of continually insisting that we had a preposterously short amount of time to the next aid station or the finish, even when it was clear that I wasn't buying any of it.  Perhaps he can expand upon that strategy. 

[Editor's note:  I'm just plain stupid, the yogger can do better math at mile 97 than I can at mile 3]

7. You were pretty quiet at the end, describe what it felt reaching Robbe point and heading to the track.

I thought it was all downhill from here?  When does the frickin' downhill start already?!  The 300m sprint we did on the track on Memorial Day weekend really planted that final entrance into the stadium into my head.  It was something I was really looking forward to all day.  It was a relief although a bit underwhelming to finally get there.  

8. In the past, altitude has affected you.  How important was it getting to squaw valley on Monday?  Did you feel the effects of 8000 feet?  How did your lungs and throat feel?

I think it helped a ton.  I noticed a big difference between how I felt running on Wednesday vs Tuesday the week before the race, and overall didn't suffer nearly as much as I usually do up there.  No lung or throat issues.   

9. For the benefit of the vast readership of Irrelevance, describe your nutrition system and how effective it was.  When did you stop eating solids?  How did your stomach feel during and after?

Pizza, pop tarts, peanut butter pretzels, potato chips, watermelon, peanut butter sweet & salty bars, tater tots, honey grahams in various proportions all mixed together in a gallon zip lock bag, a camelbak with 100oz bladder filled with whatever sports drink was available, and oodles of S Caps at every aid station.  Stopped eating solids around Cal 1.  With historically cool temps, I massively oversalted, started retaining water and had gained 10lbs at the finish, and packed on another 3-4lbs the next day.  My stomach felt fine during and after, although I wonder if I could have been stronger from Foresthill in without all the extra weight.   

10. What advice would you give any other WS rookies who are gearing up for their first attempt?

Know the course as best as possible, stuff your face early, save your quads in the canyons and have a role model who is 10x the man/woman you'll ever be (in my case, Geronimo) to inspire your efforts after Bath Rd. 

Tuesday, June 26, 2012


What can I say about Western States 2012?  It was everything I needed it to be.  The yogger dominated and during the process of doing so, he of course insisted on berating himself about his poor performance.  True yogger form.  It was beautiful.  It was legit.

Dr. Evil, The Yogger, The American Hero
The yogger provided a pace sheet for us.  It had STCC101 pace, 22 hour pace, and 24 hour pace on it.  He consistently hit the numbers for sub 22 and finished in 21:47.  Solid and reliable the yogger is.  Able to drink a bud light at the California Club after 101 miles of running before the place closes, the yogger isn't.  I suppose it's good to have room for improvement.  STCC101 may actually be more difficult than the marathon BP challenge.  Only time will tell.

Devil's thumb, roughly halfway
What I loved the most about this year's race was seeing the yogger reduced to a level of suffering even I would be proud of.  The photo below sums up the nighttime experience.

Yogger, Hero, Evil
I'd have to say, the most memorable moment of the weekend for me was watching Becky take care of Jeff after the race.  It was gentle.  It was humane.  It was heartfelt.  The bond they have is real and it is special and there is no need for rings or tax filings to prove what they share.  It goes beyond creating a life together.  So comfortable I am with the two of them that I went ahead and showered off in the gym showers while Becky took care of the shivering remnants of the yogger only a few feet away.  I figure it's sort of a completed circle after I spent a few hours with the two of them just before Maya was born.  And who really cares about anything after 22 hours anyway?  Well, I guess I care about being clean.  And the yogger wanted to be warm.  And Becky wanted the yogger to feel better.

Watching the incredible performances at the front of the pack, witnessing the grace and ease of those who make the course look easy, and seeing the absurd weather over the first 30 miles had an interesting effect on me.  It fired me up to start running again.  I haven't felt true desire to suffer since last year's race.  Quite the opposite, I've been scared to suffer.  I haven't done any quality suffering since last June.  I just wanted to be comforted on my yoga mat, I wanted to set my boundaries and be still.  I wanted to not get dropped, and I wanted to get soft and weak and to retreat from thought.  I still want all of that, but now I also want to reintroduce a little bit of run edginess into my life.  Surprisingly, I don't care much about my super-weak 5k pr at the moment.  I'd like to get into the states lottery which means I need to finish off a 50 by November.  So it's time to get fit enough to do so.  From the long and slow miles perhaps a sharpness will arise.  Or maybe it won't.  Either way, I long to feel the fitness I once had and to run with a little bit of grace instead of continual sloppiness.

Naya's favorite treat
But all of this racing, it's been covered by much better writers from much more informed perspectives.  Am I obsessed with Western States?  Certainly.  But there are many who are much more obsessed.  Indeed my obsession isn't even notable among those who truly dedicate themselves to this event.

So what is really special about last weekend for me?  Being a wallflower, and driving home with Geronimo and his daughter.  Watching and listening to the two of them interact.  Father and daughter.  I don't know what that is like because I am not a father and I can never be a daughter.  I will get more of this from Jeff and Maya as she gets older and interacts with him more, but they are not quite there yet.  And I get a different sort of vibe from my sister's husband as he tends to his flock of 3, sort of the same way the host of a dinner party has to make witty small talk with all of the guests instead of having time for a deep conversation about Carl the Dog.  I got a small glimpse of the father-daughter bond during our drive back to San Diego with Iso and Naya and it still makes me feel happy just thinking about it.  Hearing her tiny voice ask "poppy, how do you spell chela?" as she drew a picture of her dog with crayons made my heart melt.  Hearing Iso tell her "happiness is a choice" was similarly beautiful.  The cycle of life played out before my eyes, father and daughter, each trying eagerly to understand, to communicate, and to share the experience with each other.

So, what is next?  I had a good job interview today and I think this stint of unemployment may come to a close soon.  I decided to go to Vermont and pace Rod at VT100.  I'm on the fence about HURT but I'm going to make running a priority and I'm going to get some fitness back in my legs somehow.  I feel more balanced today than I've felt in a long time.  And I'm looking forward to tomorrow in a fresh and exciting sort of way, as if I've come out of a funk.  Only it was more like some downtime from running, some necessary downtime, following a race that is often difficult to wrap your head around.  I still don't understand Western States, and I definitely don't know how to race it, but I sure do think about it a lot and I'd like to learn a little bit more about it while I still can.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012


My thoughts for this week center on the concept of age.

I have friends who I consider peers stretching back to an age that is not much more than half of my own.  I also have friends, good friends, who are biologically old enough to be my parent.  The impact of age on mobility, ability, and capability seems to be less important with time although the gaps in generations seem to remain present, perhaps as an undertone to the mainstream current of innovation which keeps us all sort of lined up in the present.

I took Hunter on a walk today and it wound up being too far.  It was not an ambitious walk, nor was it too hot, nor was the route too hilly.  He is simply too old.  I picked him up and carried him for 200-300m twice on the way home.  It was a good workout, utilizing biceps, core, lower back, and legs.  An older gentleman in a shiny new pickup offered us a ride.  It was a sad moment but not unexpected and I have been preparing for this eventuality for years.

The beauty of being Hunter's dad is that his life mirrors my own.  He reminds me what it felt like to be young, carefree, to have an infinite source of energy on tap that needs to be released somehow.  I remember dreaming of the day that Hunter might finally slow down, that there might be slack in the leash.  That day arrived a while ago.

The excitement of the adolescent canine matures into the stability of the adult dog.  This is the timeframe which often blurs for us as owners, the in-between stage when the lessons have been learned, and the major milestones are silly mistakes like eating a small piece of wire and having to be cut open to remove it or almost drowning by tangling up in a buoy.  This stage of life becomes routine and predictable, a calm sense of togetherness develops and the predictability lends a certain comfort.

The senior years are remarkably unique.  I remember walking a friend's dog once who could barely make it down the driveway and reflecting on how different that was than walking Hunter.  I now own a dog who is a senior and acts like one.  It is sad not only because I remember the dog he used to be, but because I am at the age where I have started to feel my own mortality as a human and I can see how his progression is a more rapid version of what awaits me if I am lucky enough to live into the golden years.

At the end, a walk around the block becomes difficult.  A bath becomes the event of the day.  Weight control becomes more of a challenge and the mind needs more consistent rest in order to operate in the ways it once did.  I assume that is what will one day become of me and I think the scariest part of looking ahead to that point in life is realizing that I won't have someone there to take care of me like Hunter does, like my father does, and like my sister does.  Certainly this is all my own doing, my decisions and my life's circumstances have lead me to a place where the concept of family really doesn't exist.  When I visit my sister's family tomorrow, it will be me entering into her world, not our two worlds meeting up.  When I visit my father it is much the same, I bring only myself, nothing more, nothing less.

I suppose Hunter may be happy because he has me, and an extended network of friends to look after him.  Indeed, the list of possible caretakers is long enough that he frequently gets to see someone new every time I leave town.  But I'm not sure he really needs much more than someone to pat him on the head, feed him, and medicate him, his needs are so simple and I could learn a ton from that.  So maybe he's just happy to wake up and explore for another day.

What will I want as my body deteriorates?  Will it be sarcastic banter?  Will it be fresh and nutritious food?  Will it be someone to learn from?  Someone to teach?  I'm sure all of that would be nice, all would be appreciated, but I truly do not know what I will consider most important so I find it difficult to understand how to make good decisions today which will support me many years in the future.  In the meantime, each day I get to share with Hunter seems like a more and more precious gift as I watch his body deteriorate and I watch him approach the end.

Sunday, June 17, 2012


Since it is father's day, I figured I should check in with my dad.  It seems that when I called him, he was busy obsessing about a mango high atop the tree in his yard.  Being the geek that I am, I suggested numerous potential solutions as to how to retrieve said mango which was too high to reach with a fruit picker.  I even volunteered RR's kids for the task until I realized they weren't even around and my father started freaking out about the liability of someone climbing a tree on his property.  Eventually the mango fell to the earth, before I could suggest a suitable solution.

The mango felt significant enough to warrant metaphorical status so my thoughts drifted throughout my practice this evening.  I envisioned the mango as representative of something I want but which I can't have.  Perhaps the object of my desire is something beautiful or precious or downright juicy, but regardless it hangs well out of my reach.  In this particular case, consider the physical mango as hanging 30 feet above the ground.  As I gain awareness of the metaphorical mango, regardless of what it represents, I have this horrible tendency to obsess about attaining it.  How great would it be if I could just feast on this juicy mango?  Maybe it's a girl or a car or a job or a house or a car or a bike or a level of fitness, whatever it is, it's out of reach and that is when it all starts to get interesting.

When I think about picking a mango I realize there are a number of ways to go about the task.  Starting with the dumbest, I could chop down the tree with an ax or a chainsaw, but then the poor tree would be gone and I wouldn't be getting any other fruit from it and the one I want will likely be damaged when it falls to the earth.  So that's not a very good plan.  Next, I could try climbing the tree, but in this case the branch which holds the fruit will not support my weight, I will either fall to the ground and hurt myself or the mango will fall free as the branch shakes and I won't be present to catch it.

Ah, but now I'm thinking ahead, right?  I'm thinking that I need to be underneath the mango in order to capture it safely.  And that's when my brain starts doing useful work. One option to consider is a ladder + a fruit picker.  Depending on the height, this might be a great solution as ladders are frequently easy to borrow if one does not already exist and a fruit picker is a wise investment for properties with large fruit bearing trees so it would easily be worth the purchase price over time.  Another option is a telescoping fruit picker, perhaps combining a telescoping painter's pole with the fruit basket to make one if one cannot be readily purchased.  These solutions require foresight and planning but the best part of the approach is that they provide rewards beyond the present, they will be beneficial for the future.  The metaphor here can be interpreted as learning new skills, going to school, working through tough life lessons to come out a more capable human, more understanding, better prepared.  Perhaps this metaphor consists of learning how to understand people better in order to nurture a relationship, putting in long hours at work to get a promotion, saving over time to buy that new car, or logging the miles necessary to reach that new level of fitness.

All of that is interesting, but to the rational minded dude, it's all very straightforward and when it comes to motivation, I don't tend to have major hangups.  In other words, introspection is not really needed to take any of the approaches described above, they are much more like brute force attacks.  Now the shift in thinking occurs when I reach acceptance that I should not actually chase the mango, instead I will wait for the mango to come to me.  That is a more yogic mindset, one of patience, tolerance, and unity.  The mango will fall when it is ready to fall, not before, not after, and I will not decide when the mango leaves the tree, I will let that happen on it's own time.  I can prepare a safe landing for the mango, perhaps an air mattress or a large kiddie pool with water to break the fall.  Or I can hang out under the tree and wait for it to fall and catch it, thereby connecting the link in the chain of life and rewarding myself with the sweetness of perfectly ripe fruit.  These options highlight some of the most interesting lessons I've been learning lately, lessons of peace, calm, and acceptance.

It is very difficult for me to be calm.  While I am a very patient person, while I love delayed gratification, I have a hard time with accepting inaction as a solution.  But, and this is where the light bulb turns on, I sense some progress here and it excites me.

With my yoga practice, there is no alternative to patience and acceptance.  I have the body that I have, it is not terribly flexible today and I won't all of a sudden wake up tomorrow with a completely different body just because I would like that to happen.  If I jam my hips open with too much force I will tear up my knees.  I know this because I've done it to both L and R sides already.  I sometimes get frustrated with how long it has taken me to not be able to do full lotus, but no amount of frustration changes my inability.  There is only one path, there is only acceptance, because the alternative is giving up entirely.

I have decided that I would like to continue coaching this fall.  Partly because I really loved the experience last year and partly because I feel like my job situation has shifted precisely for that reason and I need to be in tune with it, I need to listen to the shifts that I observe and follow them rather than work against them or attempt to force them to play out in my favor.

I wish I had the same clarity with my intention to serve as a yoga instructor, but I do not.  The only part of yoga that I truly understand is that my own practice continues to open up thoughts and continues to teach me how little I truly know about myself, about my fellow humans, about my body, and about how it all seems so interconnected in ways I'm still beginning to understand.

I re-watched Juno today and aside from tearing up a bit at the adorable moments, I was pleasantly amused at how closely the message relates to a conversation I had with 2 friends on Saturday about relationships, butterflies, and rapid heartbeats.  I suppose I keep running because I feel that same sense of wonder and worry almost every time I strap my shoes to my feet.  I run because I don't know how good or bad the workout might be, I don't have completely control of the outcome.  I keep practicing yoga because I frequently dread the anticipation of failure in a lunge or a bind, and I infrequently amaze myself with how far my body has come since I started.  Each experience on my mat seems like a new present waiting to be unwrapped and full of wonderful anticipation.  And I keep making a fool out of myself with my friendships and relationships because those butterflies, no matter how much they make me want to puke sometimes, are so delicate and simply irresistible.

Friday, June 8, 2012


The last week of my mother's life is a week which seems engraved in my memories.  At the time I wasn't fully aware that it was her last week, as death by cancer is a progressive transition from the land of the living.  It's sort of like growing out my hair, the difference is noticeable only by someone who hasn't seen me for a while.  So, while it was sad and shocking to see my mother become bedridden, it wasn't a sudden realization, instead it was more of an inevitable eventuality.

What I remember most from that week, however, is not my mother's passing, nor the emotional embrace she shared with my sister or even her last breath.  I remember all of those things, but as I mention above, they all seemed expected if not predictable.  The piece that didn't fit, the variable in the equation which had no solution, was how I spent that week trimming the ironwood trees in the back yard.

For anyone not familiar with ironwood, or more appropriately Casuarina equisetifolia, it is a tree with very dense branches which are heavy and difficult to cut.  At one point the entire street, owned by the Mortensens, had ironwood trees on both edges of the property line.  Over the years the parcels were split and sold, and the new owners progressively traded in the trees for fences, which helped to keep dogs and keiki from wandering too far.  Our property was one of the few which still had the ironwood trees in the back and it had been a long time since they had been trimmed.  I estimated the growth to be about 30 feet on top of the 10-12 foot trunks and I remember the branches ranging from the thickness of my leg to the thickness of my arm.  I bought a chainsaw and starting a pile in the back yard which eventually consumed almost all of the grass and reached over my head.  I remember it taking about a week to make the pile and 3-4 days to cut it into truckloads and transport it to the dump.

I don't know why I did this, but eventually my father and even my neighbor joined in.  It was my coping mechanism, my way of channeling my emotional frustration into productivity.  There was only so much sitting around waiting for death that I was able to do, I needed an outlet and I found it in the back yard.  I've done similar things since then, perhaps as a means of escaping much like an alcoholic or drug addict might.  Today I had a similar moment, a sudden desire to do something with my pent up energy first brought me to my mat at noon and then to my which has now become a pile of rotten lumber on my back patio.

But wait, what does the title have to do with the post?

Great question.

I think the most significant difference between working and not working is how much time I have to think about myself.  If I seem particularly self absorbed this week, it's a by-product of not having to turn my brain into work mode for 8 hours each weekday.  Instead, my thoughts are free to drift, which I've done a fair bit of both on and off my mat.  I've been pondering why exactly I like to beat myself up so much.  I don't have an answer to this question, but I'll keep thinking about it.  I don't think it's so much of a bad thing, although it does seem to wreak havoc in my relationships and friendships.

All that aside, I do have one small epiphany which is worth continued thought.  This week I realized that one of the reasons I loved 2003 so much, a year I spent training hard and not working for the most part, other than the obvious realization that not having to go to work sort of rules, is that I was finally able to slow down.  And that is precisely what yoga has done for me as well, over the past two years, to give me space to force myself to slow down.

Now, I should clarify this.  When I run with the yogger, I'm the one begging him to slow down :)  So I'm not talking about speed in the sense of how fast an activity is performed.  I am actually very slow at eating, and with just about every task I do, work-wise, home-improvement-wise, cooking-wise, cleaning-wise, folding-laundry-wise, etc.  I am much more tortoise than hare.  But the slowing down I'm talking about is the chilling-out that seems so natural and effortless to many people.  I have difficulty with it.  I can't sit still very well.  I've known this for a while.  But I think I finally realized why.

My whole life I've felt behind, as if I've been trying to catch up to the place I should be.  I think this stems from being one of the youngest in my class.  Typically kids are held back a year when entering Punahou, especially boys, in order to gain an extra year of physical maturity for sports and intellectual maturity for college admissions.  Neither my sister nor I was held back, we both went from 3rd grade in public school to 4th grade at Punahou.  I don't think it affected my sister in any way, at least she always seemed like she was not emotionally, intellectually, or physical disadvantaged by her youth.  Being a boy, however, just might be a different story.  I remember despising my skinny arms and legs and putting a lot of time in the weight room in an attempt to catch up with my peers, many of whom were simply a year older and much closer to manhood.  I now lament all of that mass I put on during those years and I wonder what I would look like had I not done that.

The irony of it all is that I was not behind and I've never been behind.  But I feel behind.  And I'm starting to realize that.

What is the take-away?  Where are my action items?  I suppose the answer to that is to recognize when I feel this way and work to ease myself out of the tension I tend to feel about it.  There's a nice crossover to my practice.  When I'm feeling stressed, when I'm reaching my limit or approaching meltdown, I notice my breath changes from deep to shallow, from legato to staccato.  It's almost like the stoplight changing from green to yellow, telling me that I'm about to crash to the mat if I keep it up.  Sometimes I choose to push through, accepting the inevitable failure and collapse.  Sometimes I back off and try to continue with less vigor, less intensity, accepting my limits.  And other times I retreat to balasana and check out for some rest before continuing.  I try to reconnect with my breath, which is so easy to talk about and yet in the midst of a hot class it can be one of the most challenging things I ask my body to do.

In many ways, this week of unemployment feels like one of those moments on my mat where the class is continuing without me while I sit in child's pose, forehead resting on a sweat soaked yogitoes, chest rising and falling as I try to get myself under control, as I try to regain some composure.  I don't know when I'll be getting back up, or if I'm even ready, but the chance to slow down and try to catch up with myself is one that I should learn to appreciate more than I do.  I think when I talk about selling everything I own and moving back to Hawaii I am really just talking about my need to feel caught up, to slow things down to the point at which I no longer feel like I'm falling off the back.

Now that the deck is no longer, I think it's time to read Siddhartha.

Tuesday, June 5, 2012


I lost my job last week.  Haven't found a new one yet.

I am taking 2-3 yoga classes a day now.  I should be yogging.  I haven't yet.  I hope to tomorrow.

A big art project is nearing completion.  I helped out a tiny bit with that today.  There will be a big blog post on that when it is finished.

I ran with Karina at RnR SD.  Five hours out on the course.  I have fond memories of what that course used to be and it's still mostly intact, but the Morena out and back does seem a bit weak to me.

I cleaned out my garage today and I'm amazed at how refreshing it feels to open up space in that manner.  I'm guilty of letting junk pile up and boy does it feel good to have a clean view and stuff generally off the floor.

I think my pickups are one degree closer to where I'd like to have them one day.  I still can't get my hips over my shoulders but I can keep my feet off the ground a bit more easily than I used to.

I did not book a flight home for my 20th reunion because worked seemed too hectic.  I regret that now because prices are pretty jacked.  I keep checking.  They keep staying jacked.

SD100 is this weekend.  I am sweeping the last miles of the course.  I think I'll camp out at the finish line overnight and watch the finishers roll in.

I find myself even busier without work than I felt going to an office every day.  I haven't had a break for a long time, even though I've switched jobs numerous times, I haven't worked out time off in between and I think that may have added up.  Just being able to clean up the garage and kitchen makes me feel more grounded and stable.

I think I'll be able to do a bit of coaching now that the job has shifted.

I gave back a company owned laptop which is part of the reason I haven't been blogging much.

Overall, life is good...