Irrelevance

Track

2012-02-28T23:26:00.000-08:00

There's no better space for me to practice living in the moment than the track. On one hand, there isn't a safer, easier, more protected place to run without machinery. On the other end of that same spectrum, the work I do on the track typically leads me into sensations which can be remarkably memorable and are not always of the pleasant variety. For me, time spent on the track is the ultimate reality check. How motivated am I? How accepting am I? How prepared am I? In many ways, the simplicity and predictability of the track surface is a mirror to my yoga mat. The dimensions and materials do not change, they seem like they will outlast my lifetime. Each offers a window into my soul as I burst into motion. Each offers a reflection of my thoughts as I recover and regain my breath. Each offers a measure of my dreams as the reality of what I can and can't do sinks in at full expression. Each is a place to prepare for future improvement, to measure my progress, and to accept and honor where I am today. I admit that I think runners who don't love the track are missing out on one of the parts of running I genuinely adore, it's like all of the people I know who consciously opt out of experiencing the emotions I find daily on my yoga mat.

Tonight's workout was 1k/200m then 400m/400m, for 6 sets. When I read it, I did some sort of funny math and wound up expecting 8k total for the 6 sets. How about that engineering degree! It wasn't until halfway through the workout that I figured out that 6x2=12 meaning I had another 6k left to go. I should have done the workout in the morning, when the sun would have warmed me and my brain would have had a better chance of being functional. Instead, I went to bootcamp at core power yoga, and then I chose breakfast over a double header of workouts. I knew it'd be tough to motivate in the dark but procrastination took root. On top of that, I didn't get in touch with Luc, my go-to UCSD training partner, until too late. He replied to my request for assistance as I was exiting my car outside his office, indicating he was done with his workout before I had even started mine. With that, I ventured out into the cold dark night, alone and uncertain.

I tore my achilles on this very track a number of years ago. It was only a micro-tear, but it's never been the same since. I was pushing too hard, trying to keep up with Hupfeld after he got too fast for me, in the cold, without a proper warmup. I felt it tear and I kept running. Ah, the foolishness of youth which has long since passed (the youth part, not the foolishness.) This time I wanted to be as warm as I could be, so I put in a full campus loop before finding my way to the oval for my strides. The UCSD masters group was finishing up while I did my strides in lane 4, one yahoo even "raced" me to the line during his last interval, good for him for pushing his limits. I started my first k mere seconds after the masters group called it a wrap. My timing could not have been any better for that. I was loose and ready to see what the measuring stick would say tonight. I hadn't been out on a decent track by myself in quite some time since I've done so much on the San Dieguito dirt track which is 2 blocks from my house and the times there just aren't nearly as exact.

One thousand meters is somewhere in between a little and a lot. It's just a bit longer than I'd really like it to be, but not long enough to really settle in. The first 100m feels nice, since the pace for a k isn't a lung burner and it's fun to drive the knees and lean through the turn. Then comes that first straight where reality starts to surface as you approach 2 laps to go. The far turn starts to suck, you're nowhere near done, not even near a landmark of 1 lap done, and it stopped feeling smooth and doable somewhere on that first straight. Somehow when I hit 400m I always get a boost, I start to think that halfway is approaching and I've got a solid lap down. That 3rd turn is all about getting to the 500m mark and from there it's a straight shot to the 600m start of the bell lap. Glide forward, long strides, deep breaths on that 6th hundred, look ahead, but not too far ahead. With the start of the bell lap, there's always a boost, but oh is it short lived. The penultimate turn is a long one, the full 100m which is the start of the end but every inch of it takes effort. Eventually the curve gives way to the penultimate straightaway, you are heading home since it's the final lap, but you're running away from where you are going to end up and it's a bit of a mind game. The focus this entire last lap is on form, elbows in, deep breaths, shoulders relaxed. The final turn is really more of a final kick in the butt than anything to look forward to. It's the turn of darkness, where nobody cares, nobody would even notice if you stepped off on that last turn and called it a day. All of the energy comes back at the end of that final straight, the straight which feels so smooth in a workout but oh so unbelievably painful in a race.

It ends, every interval always ends, and then it's time for a 200m shuffle back to the start for the 400. By comparison to the 1000, a 400 feels so very doable in terms of distance, but even more painful in terms of intensity. The effort has to be jacked up to meet the time goal, it's a different style of running, more toes, more lean, more arms pumping, deeper and more rapid breathing, more burning in the core, tears in the eyes from the cold wind, and larger surface sensations as compared to the k's depth. That 400 of rest afterwards seems like an indulgence, like double layer chocolate cake since it is twice as much rest than the 200 was, after doing less than half the distance. The 400 rest erases most of the doubt that creeps up during set 1 and set 2. It is the reset, the ginger in between sushi rolls, that allows the brain to wrap itself around set 3, 4 and 5. The thoughts of "Will I make it to 6?" have to be pushed aside, living in the moment requires the mind to focus on each set as it occurs. I tell myself to just get 3 done and I'll see how I feel. When 4 comes up I offer myself the option to call it a day and promptly decline. I'll do 5 even if I don't make the times, I'll just feel better knowing I tried to do 5 even if it's a mess. And on the 5th k, towards the very end, I finally realize that I can survive the 6th set. I wasn't sure going into the workout, but I became confident as I neared the end that it could be done. It's a lot like that last 10k in a marathon, you just don't know if you'll have what it takes to run it at pace until you get to mile 20 and then it just happens or it doesn't and you're almost not even in control of the outcome at that point. Tonight it happened, not in any spectacular fashion, but in exactly the way you want when you're logging track miles in the middle of a training plan.

As I jogged my final 400 to rest and recover the lights kicked off. I assume they were on a timer, but regardless of why, I was instantly presented with a stunning view of a crescent moon, ardha chandrasana, right in front and above of my field of view. What a beautiful way to end the evening. I drank in a huge gulp of air and let loose a gentle Aum to celebrate the chilly stillness all around me. I jogged to the familiar stop sign and then past the unfamiliar Peet's on my way back to my car, ending a 90 minute journey to the basement of my willpower and the root of my focus. I can't say that every interval felt effortless tonight, but I enjoyed the rough spots as much as the smooth because they all shaped my body and calmed my mind. It was a solitary indulgence, one I am fortunate I am able to experience. I am so lucky to have these opportunities to express myself, alone, on hallowed ground. As I wound my way around the oval, in constant motion yet going nowhere, I caught up with that inner peace I keep seeming to lose track of in the stress of work and the confusion of daily life.

Wheels

2012-02-26T22:41:00.001-08:00

My car stereo broke last week. Well, actually, it's pretty fancy so it didn't really break, it just started displaying an error code and stopping pumping out the tunes. I didn't have time during the week to investigate, but as I kept driving without music, the priority of this problem increased. I checked out prices on a replacement unit and it seems that the model I bought for $500 back in 2006 is now priced at $750 new. Funny how that works. The other models available, which bundle navigation into the mix, are upwards of $1000. Yikes. I guess I was smart to pick it up for $500 when I did.

The error code was DC Error, indicating a potential short in the wiring. Since it worked great for 5+ years, my intuition told me that the wiring was just fine. However, the curse of the engineer forces me to rule out problems, so the first thing I did once I had time today was to remove the wiring harness and check it out. Since I hooked it up so long ago, I used butt connectors (this is what they are called, I'm not making this up) which are crimped onto the wire to connect the harness to the factory plugs. I've since changed my tune, now when I wire up a new car stereo I solder the connections and use heat shrink tubing over the solder. In fact, when I sold my old truck (the white one, below) to my friend, Bruce Hanley, I took the time to redo the wiring harness for him by soldering all the connections and heat shrinking it all nice and pretty. He'll never know, because nobody ever looks at the wiring harness other than the geeky dude who installed the thing. Most people don't care about wires as long as everything works. When it comes to me, however, I sleep better knowing it's all done the way I want it done. I couldn't just put it back as-is, I had to bring it up to my "current standard" now that I had it out in the open.

Most people don't care how well this part is done

This is how life is when you're a geek, especially a type A geek, you want to fix problems that aren't even problems. Soldered connections are more reliable than crimped connections because the copper strands are protected from oxidation by the solder and the connection between the strands is a chemical bond instead of the mechanical pressure from a bent piece of tubular aluminum surrounded by a plastic insulator. In the photo above you can see a few crimps on the green and purple wires, some wrapped in electrical tape. That represents my old standard. Then you can also see the soldered connections with the heat shrink tubing ready to be moved into place and heated to shrink it down. That represents my current standard.

Most people just care that this part works

The new harness didn't change anything but it did make me feel better. The next step in troubleshooting requires eliminating other potential problems. I pulled out the factory stereo (which doesn't have fancy circuitry to detect a possible short) and plugged it in and it worked OK although I noticed the front right speaker sounded bad which is an indication it may well have be blown. I disconnected the front right speaker, disconnected the factory stereo, hooked up the fancy stereo and presto, DC Error was now gone. I packed the dashboard back up, knowing now that all I have to do is buy new speakers and I'm golden. $750 crisis averted, and only about 1 hour "wasted" soldering the wire harness which was really work that fell off my "to do" list at some point since I forgot I intended to do that. I think at one point I was going to buy a new set of harness wires and do all the connections up, then swap it out, I just never got around to wasting $40 and an hour to accomplish no net change.

Anyway, this whole afternoon episode got me thinking about "all the cars I've owned before" (sing it Julio Iglesias!). There have been a few. You see, I was a member of the prestigious 3CCC (three car crash club) in high school.

The members of the three car crash club

I kid you not, Jon Everest did all of the leg work necessary to create an official club. We had hats made and we even hosted a few assemblies, showing videos that promoted trafic safety awareness. It was all an obvious ploy to get one of these photos into the yearbook. Left to right in the top photo is Kaleo, Craig, Jon, Byro, Matt, Rob, me, Aaron, and John. I still own those shorts, by the way.

We did our best to ensure all of the Honolulu body shops stayed in business.

Jon even joined the yearbook committee to try to sneak the photo in when our attempts to convert our fledgeling club to official yearbook status failed. I think we came very close to making the final cut, but the photo got pulled at the last minute by a vigilant faculty member. Oh well, it would have been cool.

Lisa, me, Nina, Mie at the party house on HLR.

So, in high school, I drove this red honda prelude around. I loved that car, thought it was the coolest thing I'd ever had the privilege of driving. We're talking 4 whole cylinders and automatic transmission. I longed for a manual transmission and an engine that had some nads, but still, it was red, it was flashy, and I crashed it a bunch. When I wasn't busy crashing it, I collected an assortment of speeding tickets. Oh and it got broken into a few times too. I miss that sucker.

My first truck, it fit in well in New Jersey

Off I went to college, and in college I didn't need a vehicle. My senior year, in preparation for my departure into the workforce, I bought what every Hawaii boy dreams of, my first pickup truck. And, no, I did not go out and buy a nice, gently used family truck, I had to go find the most beat up, POS pickup I could. See the lettering on the side? This truck had a snowplow, 4WD, huge tires that rubbed when you turned the steering wheel too far, and heavy duty springs which caused it to buck like a bull if it smelled a pothole. It was absolutely undriveable and I loved it dearly.

Alex Dyer and I, moving all the junk out of his childhood home.

My best college buddy, Alex, was a total car nut. He even wrote his thesis on the American automobile industry. He roasted me for my choice, how impractical it was for a software geek to own a pickup, why I bought a work truck that was beat up instead of a good quality, lightly used family truck, etc. On the day when his mom, Deedee, had to move out of the house Alex and his sister had grown up in, El Truck came to the rescue, making many trips to the dump, storage, and the new house. So, I think at some point, Alex came to accept that my mistake at least served some purpose.

Flanel shirt, check. Briefcase, check. Velcro shoes, check.

Next up, I bought my dream truck. I special ordered this sucker from the biggest Ford dealer in Long Island, once I had my first steady paycheck, after realizing that the beat up grey truck was costing more than a new truck payment in terms of repairs. The dealer threw me at the only female salesperson who tried all her best moves to confuse me. Too bad for them, I was on a mission, not about to be swayed by sex appeal from an aging blondie. I think they saw "idiot" written on my face and wound up shocked when I knew more than any of them about the options, even calling the option packages by letter/number code. I had spent weeks memorizing all of the prices, and the disparity of preparation worked in my favor. It was so bad that they called me back on a technicality, the truck I had special ordered couldn't be built because the longbed wasn't compatible with the off road package. When I went in and tried to adjust the price downward for the short bed, they told me to get lost, they didn't want my $300 profit + holdback after all. So, I took my deposit check and the DORA form down to the next dealership, explained the situation, and 3 months later I got my truck for my price. Because every software geek in Long Island planning a move to San Francisco needs a 4wd extended cab stick shift F150. In black too, what a practical color. This thing took hours to wash, by the time I was done, the other side was already dirty. Again, I put a lot of work into the stereo system, again it got ripped off, just like the grey truck, just like the prelude.

The last in the series of 2 wheelers, Honda CL360, VFR 750, and this 599.

In New York I got my motorcycle license and bought a friend's CL360. When I moved to SF in 1997, I eventually bought a VFR 750 to handle the traffic from SF to Novato. Then I started riding my bicycle to work and caught the whole triathlon bug. The 599 pictured above served a great purpose for me in 2006 when I had to get through a snarled up mess of traffic on the 15 just south of 78 to get to work in Rancho Bernardo. It probably saved me 20 minutes every day, maybe more. The nice thing about motorcycles is that there usually isn't an option to overload them with car stereos, and they also don't tend to be broken into as often.

The one truck I actually used for the truck part.

In SF, I finally sold the black F150 and bought a white Tacoma that was slightly smaller and got way better gas mileage. Stick shift again, because stick shift and San Francisco are such a great combo. Oh, how idiotic I am. I moved to Carlsbad with that truck and one day, eating lunch at Pelly's, the server was talking to someone about how she needed my exact truck (describing color, year, etc) she just couldn't find one without a sunroof and for some reason that was important (she planned to do some serious off roading with it.) I mentioned I had what she wanted and would be willing to sell it if she wanted it that bad, so a few weeks later that truck was sold. I went a few more weeks without a vehicle and bought the Tundra above, a bit bigger than the tacoma, yet able to seat 3 and haul a lot of junk compared to the tacoma which sat 2 adults and maybe 2 small children and could carry less garbage to the dump. I got a lot of use out of that Tundra.

This lucky guy now lives in Goleta at the Hanleys

At one point I had a shell for it and I slept in it a few times, at Wildflower one notable year where it rained so bad that I didn't get out of the truck until after my wave started, then I went down to the lake and swam with the dudes twice my age, rode the bike course in a fleece, and ran through the mud miserably cold. I had that truck totally dialed in, the stereo was decent, the mileage semi reasonable, and it was almost manageable in a parking lot. Eventually I bought the corolla and found myself driving the truck less and less. Bruce mentioned wanting a 4WD vehicle and now he owns it and I have no truck. I also sold the motorcycle, leaving me with a three bikes and a crappy but perfectly functional corolla with 105,000 miles.

It's probably time to buy a new car soon. Maybe a wagon this time? I've got a full set of roof racks waiting for a new vehicle purchase. It's really hard to go back to having a car payment after not having had one since 2003. So, I just keep my crappy, dirty, POS car (sing it Adam Sandler) because it works. And I haven't really ever bothered to go all out with the stereo because I figure it'll just get stolen if I do. Or maybe I grew up and stopped caring about vehicles? Unlikely. It's strange that something which was so important to me as a kid is now such a total afterthought. It is liberating to simply not care about the dings and dents in your car.

Here's the short list of potentials if I do decide to have a mid-life crisis and buy a new car:

1. Prius (I would have bought one in 2006 but the supply was tight and it was difficult to get one)
2. Tacoma (they are bigger now, more tundra-like, and it might have been the perfect truck if I hadn't sold it to the Pelly's lady. I don't really need a truck for any reason.)
3. Mazda 3 wagon (great compromise, not much more inspiring than the corolla though)
4. Jetta tdi wagon (I think you can finally buy these new in Cali, but I am not sure I trust a Jetta as far as maintenance goes)
5. Fiesta hatchback (the assistant master in college had an original Fiesta back in 1992 and I still remember that ugly blue car. The new Fiesta's look pretty cool and can get 40MPG but they aren't cheap or very spacious)
6. Honda Fit (good compromise but perhaps a bit cheapy, although I think that's my style)
7. Honda Element (fits the dork quotient, but not the most fuel efficient on this list.)
8. Nissan Leaf (my dad bought one. It has some appeal, but I'm not sure I'd love plugging it in all the time.)
9. Corolla (it's an unbeatable value if you abandon all hope of caring about what you drive.)
10. Subaru outback wagon (if it's good enough for Lae Charles, it's good enough for me. Just not the most fuel efficient either and not cheap)

Any other suggestions? Hmm...

Shane

2012-02-22T10:39:00.000-08:00

I had an unusually wonderful morning today. It pretty much turned me upside down. Hunter woke me up and I felt like a brick. I had struggled a bit during my tempo run Tuesday morning and I guess my body was feeling the last two days more than I expected it would. During the next 15 minutes, an unexpected sense of openness eased into my thoughts and joints. Maybe it's a simple matter of temperature, how warm it is directly affects my mood and today in San Diego is just plain gorgeous. As I carried Hunter downstairs for breakfast and said hi to Shane, I wore a smile on my face.

We started off with 5 surya namaskara A's and then B's as we headed into the first half of my dumbed-down version of the Ashtanga primary series. For the first time ever, Shane took a mat next to me and together we rolled through. "Ekam, dve, trini, chatvari, panca..." only the words were silent and our synchronized breaths marked the rythm. It was seriously one of the coolest moments I've experienced on the mat or in any sport. I've ridden with Jurgen and Norman, ran with Meb, and swam with Hillary. Now I can add to that list that I've practiced breath by breath with Shane, at least for a little bit. It was surreal.

The practice just flowed, despite my wounded-but-healing left shoulder and my inability to do an actual pickup which is sort of like the period at the end of the sentence in the Ashtanga practice. After every side of every seated asana you are supposed to pick yourself off the ground, squeeze your legs through your hands, crank out a chaturanga, and then lift your feet back through your hands to seated. I can't do it yet, but each attempt makes me feel slightly less incapable.

Towards the end of our session, we had reached urdhva dhanurasana. The photos above are from a few months ago, you can see a lot of bending in my arms and not a lot of ability to press my chest away from my hips. Today just felt different, and I reached a point where I felt my arms approaching full extension with my chest pressing forward. I could barely breathe, perhaps out of joy, perhaps out of contortion. Shane picked up on my energy and just smiled at me.

Maybe I'm also just extra giddy today because I pulled strings on a favor from a friend who made it happen instantly and without hesitation. I feel such tremendous guilt asking for favors or special treatment, but for some reason this felt OK. That says a lot about how I feel about this friend, that I'm willing to take, because I feel so much more comfortable giving. Even more thrilling is that I'm excited to share the favor with 2 of my other friends, a night we will most certainly remember. I promise to write about it in depth

Happy Wednesday!

Cody

2012-02-20T13:08:00.000-08:00

Last year I spent President's day weekend with Mike, chasing Tim Twietmeyer through the final 20 mile section of the western states course in the snow. I remember pulling into the parking lot with Mike and seeing snow on the Placer High School track. We ran the first few miles, chasing Tim in his green jacket, through snow flurries. I was cold, but it was exhilarating, my first time running through snowfall.

This year, I wanted to go back and do the training runs so I tried to talk it up to Mike and The Yogger but it just didn't happen. So, instead, I opted for a different kind of mountain trip this year, a more traditional route of snow seeking than the ultrarunner version. My little brother, Cody, had never seen snow. His mom, well technically his grandma, asked me if I'd take him because she thought that would be a great experience for him. After I mentioned it to neighbor Brad, he got on board and booked a cabin at Big Bear for a couple of nights for his family. The BBBS.org rules prohibit overnights, so I made plans to pick up Cody at 4am on Sunday, drive up to meet up with the Colberts, and spend the day playing in the snow. I thought with 4 adults and 3 kids (they have a live-in family-member-nanny, Megan) we would be able to keep the 3 littles happy and still have time for a little fun ourselves.

Cody and his "mom" who is actually his biological grandma, Patty

I told myself I'd get to sleep early on Saturday night. I took Tabu's class with Carrie and was on my way to grab a $50 salad at Whole Foods when my phone rang. Jordan requested an extra set of hands to move a pool table the "old fashioned" way (meaning he hadn't rolled up the felt and chipped out the slate, so it was 600 lbs of pool table that needed to get shuttled out of his truck and into his front porch. Well, we got that table into the garage at least, but that was an hour or so, and it got us both thinking and talking (Jordan tends to do a fair bit of thinking which is one reason I enjoy conversing with him) so after I showered and packed and got to bed I noticed that I was looking at about 3 hours of sleep. Oh well, better 3 than 0. The alarm fired at 3:00, I finally got out of bed at 3:30, and I left the house at 4. Not too bad overall, only about 30 minutes behind my own schedule, but this is the kind of perpetual problem with my lifestyle. I get so caught up in the present, my mind is so engaged in what I'm doing, that I have difficulty shutting that down and preparing for the next event, hence I'm always late, and most people take that as a sign of disrespect. In this particular case, I'm sure the extra minutes of sleep Cody and Patricia got were appreciated, and with clear roads and smooth driving, we arrived at 6:45am which was exactly the timeframe I had hoped for so it worked out well. I mostly just have to set a time that is unnecessarily early in order to arrive at the correct time. Some people do this by setting their watch 5 minutes early, but for me I would quickly adjust to the discrepancy. I need to believe that I am late in order to arrive on time.

Matt and Nate eating breakfast at 6:40am

Carolyn, Brad's lovely wife, greeted us and as Cody went to play in the snow in the back yard, I sat with Nate and Matt for breakfast. Cody came back in, but turned down my granola and almond milk, even though I asked him about 10 times if he wanted to eat anything. Nate showed me how he drinks milk from his bowl after eating all the cereal by pouring it into his lap. Matt was his usual self, meaning unusual compared to other kids I know, always a bit of the unexpected mixed in with all sorts of vibrant expressions. I could see Nate playing football, having chiseled abs, and dating supermodels while Matt welds sculptures, writes poetry, and plays guitar. Of course, since I don't spent much time with them, my assumptions about their emerging personalities are probably way off.

Matt calls me "Meester Daaave"

Nate before dumping his bowl of milk in his lap

Matt got his snow gear on and went out in the back yard to throw snowballs at Cody. I stayed indoors, eating my hemp granola and talking with Carolyn and Brad who was a bit congested from the ~~case of wine~~ altitude and dry air. Megan and Matt shared some precious moments on the couch, the tenderness of caregiver and child mixing together harmoniously, exchanging warmth without pretension or awkwardness. I wondered, while watching that, what is it about me which limits my ability to engage with Cody in that manner? Is it the whole man and boy situation? Is it fear of coming off in any way as inappropriate? Am I simply not an affectionate person? Have I lost my inner child as my hair turns to grey? We'll get back to these thoughts in a bit.

Cody and Matt throwing snowballs

Somehow, after the plan changed about 40 times, Brand ended up jumping in our car and off we went, first to rent a board, boots, and helmet for Cody ($25 for the day, it might as well have been free, shoot, I'd have paid $25 just to talk to that way-cute-but-way-too-young female who sorted it all out for us in the store.) Then we were off to park, pee, hop on the shuttle, and finally arrive at the slopes. I spent too much time getting my boots on (it's hard to drive in snowboard boots, so I had to put them on with cold hands in the parking lot) and I forgot sunscreen (huge oops) and food (I had a box of purefit bars I intended to bring with for food for Cody and I, and I forgot to stuff my pockets with them, hence the $35 lunch bill.) Somehow, by sheer luck, I wound up dressed properly for the day, at times I was too hot, at times too cold, and most of the day just about right based on our activity level and the changing weather conditions.

Conveyer belts take a lot of the pressure off first timers

We stumbled into the beginner section and Brad picked out the conveyer belt which was hidden on the side. I didn't even see it, though it was right there in front of us. Hooray for neighbor Brad. I don't think I can overstate how awesome Brad is in the daddy role. I see it all the time with his own boys, but watching him take care of Cody brought it full circle for me just as watching Shane demonstrate a pose brings immense clarity for how it is supposed to look. Some people are genuinely capable of the calm confidence required to be a parent. And while there is some leeway in the mom department (most of us as children have experienced our mothers in a moment of weakness, tears, or meltdown) the role of father is about being a pillar of strength and confidence and inviting everyone else to reach out and grab a handle for the ride. Brad has these attributes. In fact, Brad is strangely similar to the neighbor we had growing up in Kailua, David Mortensen. Ask either Brad or David for help and they are there. Ask them how to do something and they know the answer. Unwavering, accepting, and encouraging without any hint of overbearing. Such is the delicate nature of fatherhood.

Neighbor Brad in yellow

Cody started off catching a few front edges and taking a few spills but he didn't seem to mind much. He sort of smiles and laughs his way through things when he doesn't know exactly what he is doing. With Brad and I together, we were able to simultaneously assist from above and below, so he knew where he was going and he also got some verbal advice along the way. He didn't hit anyone else the entire day which is pretty remarkable given how crowded it was. He was pretty smooth with his bailouts, and he didn't have much of any extra trouble once we graduated to the chair lifts.

By lunch, Cody was able to hold an edge

By 11:00 am, he was able to make it down a basic green, and keep a steady pace without falling. I won't say that he is able to crank out S turns, but this was day 1 of seeing snow and I remember how awful my first day of boarding was so I can't help but be impressed. In the interest of honesty (and this blog is intended to be an honest reflection of my thoughts) I will take a quick tour of some of the things I see lacking in Cody and compare them to my own memories of my 10 year old self. If my dad reads any of this, I'd appreciate him correcting anything I misrepresent as it's hard to take a 37 year old perspective and apply it to 10 year old memories which have been in storage for a quarter century.

The smile is the reason we made the trip

I think the photo above is my favorite one from the day. That was probably the peak of Cody's efforts on the board. And he is smiling. I can't tell you how many times in my first year of practicing yoga that I was instructed to "soften" my face. This face, this look, is the natural, uncomplicated look of youthful joy. This is the look that we spend years in therapy trying to return to when our lives become a garbage disposal. So, to witness that moment occurring, to see firsthand how a child perceives "fun" was a wonderful treat and the highlight to my day. Cody is not extremely expressive with his emotions, he is very even keel, not much high, not much low, all sorts of raw energy but it is all released deliberately, metered out over time. This smile is his version of pure joy, the equivalent of my dog, Hunter, bee-lining to the surf zone at dog beach.

Day 1 of boarding means a lot of time spent like this

I also don't want to sugar coat this too much. The kid spent plenty of time on the ground. He was as natural as could be expected, but it was a learning process and there was plenty of time to learn what not to do. When I say I am proud of him, it is within the context of his background and his abilities. I don't want this to sound like he is some 10 year old phenomenon on a snowboard. Compared to other kids his age, who have perhaps more experience or exposure to winter sports, he's probably somewhere in the upper middle of the group. Not overly fearful, definitely not timid, but in all honesty his ambition is very tempered and reasonable. I think this may come from his environment, the expectations are not terribly high, so he is rarely stretched to his full potential. To frame this back to me, because this blog is about my thoughts, I notice that when an instructor in a beginner class gives cues for trikonasana, they often suggest paying more attention to elongated side bodies and hips rotated in plane, reaching high but not worrying too much about reaching low. When Shane puts me into triangle pose, he doesn't hesitate to tell me to peace finger my big toe which is almost a completely different pose for me, with bigger sensations and overall much more challenging. It's similar to a beginner classes reminding us that it's OK to pause in one legged tadasana holding the raised knee and working on foundation, while Bikram has someone with a microphone practically yelling at you to lock your knee out with fingers interlaced and back straight or you might as well die trying. Put in a different way, I think Cody would grow tremendously if he had stronger encouragement, if he had someone who expected a bit more from him. And yet, I am hyper sensitive to this because I feel like I carry some of the burden of a childhood spent chasing expectations and accomplishments and I realize that direction did not bring any great perspective or unique happiness. Put in simpler terms, who am I to say that Cody's ambition is anything but perfect? At 37, do I honestly expect to know more about life than a 10 year old? Perhaps it is the other way around, perhaps the student is really the teacher and the teacher is only beginning to understand what the lesson is about.

Lunch at the top

One other point I want to make. Cody has great hair. I am so infinitely envious of how great his hair is. I am growing my own hair out partially in response to how cool I think Cody is with his long brown locks. It's natural, it's got color, some texture, but not too much. The kid is going to become a really good looking young man very soon. I assume that means he's going to have a lot of girls interested in him. I wonder how that will change him, I wonder how he will react to the attention. I wonder if perhaps the time for my contribution, for my suggestions on how he can make decisions that will enhance his life, lies predominantly in the future during his upcoming, most likely angst-ridden teenage years. Will he ever spend time contemplating the rejection of a father who decided he wanted to not have any part in his life? Will he confront his biological mother who he has met but lives across the country? And how will his relationship with his grandma, who is primary guardian and the #1 most important family member in his life, the only one who has unconditional and unlimited love for him, how will that relationship change over time. Will he ever be upset or bitter about the hand he was dealt? I sure think I would go through various stages of thoughts like that at some point. So far it all seems like anything that might go on is going on well under the radar.

Brad rented short skis for some reason

When we stopped for lunch, Cody was a bit less regulated and a more free with himself. Perhaps the location (out on the deck at the of one of the lifts) allowed some of this, or perhaps the vigor of a morning spent in active motion created a safe space for expression. We assembled a tray together, and he picked out (in order) french fries, mac n cheese, a tri tip sandwich, and a caesar salad. I picked out 2 hard boiled eggs and watched him make a suicide of Dr. Pepper, Pepsi, and Sierra Mist.

This was the punctuation between am and pm sessions

He got most of the mac n cheese down (thankfully since I wouldn't have touched it) but only half of the tri tip sandwich, offering up the 2nd half to me and I decided to eat it even though I have eaten red meat less than 5 times this year and I'm still trying to avoid wheat as well. It wasn't bad for ski food, but I focused more on the boiled eggs and salad. Cody took the time to unpack the croutons and spread them over the salad but ate none of it, funny how the least nutritious salad became my lunch, the one I've learned to pick last, primarily iceberg and parmesan, but I navigated my way around the croutons and shook off the cheese as much as I could while Cody went off to past the deck to make snow angels. I remember so vividly how frequently my mom would tell me "your eyes are always bigger than your stomach". Knowing this, remembering how frequently I felt such intense waves of hunger, I had tried hard to prompt Cody to eat that morning. I could have been more forceful with him, I could have made demands or ultimatums, but I didn't. I knew he would need to eat at some point but since he is not my child I don't feel it is my place to micro-manage him at that level. I am not sure I would want to even if he were my child. At the same time, paying $35 for lunch is something I'm happy to do at Whole Foods, but not on the slopes. There was an opportunity here for me to step up and assume some measure of authority. I sidestepped and went with the flow. It's not a big deal, the kid is healthy, lean, and has very normal eating habits compared to others his age and I'm not scraping pennies at minimum wage, but it's not how I like to do things. Still, who am I to demand more? Who am I to suck the "fun" out of these types of things? I remember with tremendous fondness one ski trip in college where Doug and I went to Killington, on our 2nd or 3rd trip, this time without any other friends, just the two of us in a stinky motel room. It was the most efficient ski trip of my life, we spent every minute we could in motion, and every night we went to Taco Bell for 39 cent tacos. It was the furthest thing from healthy I could imagine and yet I remember it with immense fondness. I think it's important to give space to others, especially 10 year olds, to make decisions which may not be entirely in their long term best interests as far as health goes. And I suppose I hope that he sees my example and develops curiosity with time, I hope that my silent leadership is having a subliminal effect.

Cody decided to bury himself in snow

Brad stayed to finish lunch with Megan who arrived for the afternoon after taking Matt and Nate tubing with Carolyn in the morning. Cody wanted to get going again, so I went down the hill with him. This was where things changed up a bit. With Brad and I, Cody did not call the shots, in fact Brad, knowing the hill from the day before, was doing most of the navigating and doing a great job of gently guiding Cody through a beginners progression. In the absence of Brad, there was no authority figure, and I assumed my role of enabler of whatever Cody wanted to do. He first picked heading off back towards the conveyer belts, and then wanted to go play in the "soft" snow (soft meaning dryer than the heavy, somewhat wet and crunchy snow under the canopy of most of the trees.) He spent 20 or maybe 30 minutes playing around with a frozen block of a pond/stream/runoff water spot, and kind of just goofing off. I started to get cold, but he was really enjoying himself, so I toughed it out. This was where I really started to switch over to the "I'm not really enjoying this all that much because I don't want to explore cold/wet snow, I'd really much rather be out on the slopes carving turns and generating body heat" mode. And yet I felt it was important to give space to Cody to explore his internally generated motivations. I remember how empowering it was when one of my high school girlfriend's moms once asked me a series of questions along the lines of "what would you do right now if you could do anything?" I wound up building and wiring an audio system for their house, spending their money but completely enjoying the process of transforming their outdoor space. So, I felt that Cody deserved to explore this new world of snow and trees and ice without worrying about the silliness of paying for a lift ticket and not using it. I also realized he was nearing his physical and/or motivational limits for the day.

Sort of like being at the beach only colder (for me)

He would run or walk or jump for a bit and then just fall over into the snow. At first I found it odd behavior even though he jumps and dives in the grass and on the beach, but the consistency and repetitiveness of his actions eased my concern with time. I think he honestly did not recognize how his body was tiring out on him. I remember how badly my muscles ached after my first attempts to snowboard, how strange it felt to balance leaning on the edge of a board instead of placing your weight on the entire surface area of your feet as evolution intends us to. Watching Cody fall into the snowdrifts intentionally turned on a light bulb on for me, he was responding to a morning spent exploring the edges of his board and the limits of his physical abilities and he longed to feel grounded to the earth, supported over a large surface area of his body on flat ground. It was time for Cody's savasana.

He said he wasn't cold at all

I took him back to the house, got him on the couch, got his boots off, and he passed out before I went back to the slopes to pick up Brad and Megan. He wasn't admitting it, but the kid was cooked by 2pm. I did wake him up for dinner before we left, but he passed out again in the car. I don't blame him, my triple shot latte barely kept me awake through the 2 hour drive, I would have loved to have slumped over against the window and released my grip on consciousness myself.

Now, on to the honesty part. I'm pretty sure this is going to come out all wrong because I have a special talent for saying things that get interpreted as insults when I mean them as observations. However, I feel compelled to draw some comparisons between my little brother and the child I remember myself as being when I was his age. I'm not talking about any physical comparisons, if I remember myself as being slightly more physically fit at that age from running, water polo, and tennis, that's not exactly a difference worth mentioning. I lived in a different state, with different weather, and I had access to facilities and coaches that Cody does not have. It's a simple matter of doing different things, not all of which I actively decided to do at all times, that leads to whatever physical differences I might be able to discern. An over-emphasis on athletic performance at an early age probably does more harm than good as far as adult amateur athletic performance is concerned.

What I am most interested in, however, is the mind of a 10 year old. I notice some similarities in the things that tend to fascinate Cody and things that I remember fascinating me at that age. I loved running and jumping and trying to catch a football in mid air. I loved exploring the "woods" (which really means anything off to the side of the main track but within easy visual range of the masses). I remember noticing a lot of the little things that I look past as an adult, having been trained to conform to all of the rules that each microcosm of the world has set up. I used to see the journey of youth as a process of learning and understanding all of the rules of engagement I needed to know in order to meet and hopefully exceed expectations in the various measurements which would be taken along my path. I now see how much can be lost in that process, how pure the heart and mind start off at birth, and how as we add structure we are effectively voluntarily placing blinders on which limit our natural tendency to see wide as well as far.

Regardless, society isn't going to do some massive rewind, and this blog is hardly the place for a thesis on the loss of innocence which seems to be increasing in the modern world. Instead, I want to focus in on something that's been so heavy in my thoughts over the past few months. I see a tremendous disparity between "finishers" and "participants" in the modern world. When I saw Cody "quit" on the slopes yesterday, I knew it was perfectly reasonable, he was tired, actually quite exhausted, and he reached a saturation point and just kind of fell over. He was maybe a little proud or a little insecure so he wasn't able to tell me directly, "hey big brother Dave, I know this trip costs you some $ and an entire day of your time and I really appreciate you doing that for me, but I'm really tired now and I think it'd be best if I could maybe go somewhere to take a nap because I don't think I can board any more." I can read between the lines on that one, I don't expect such a level of self awareness at such a tender age.

What fascinates me, is how normal that reaction is in this world, and yet how foreign it seems to me. I wonder, I truly wonder, how much of my perspective is genetic vs developmental. Was I born this way or was I made this way? If I had a child, would they be like me in terms of how they react at the breaking point, or would they be more "normal"? I remember my grandfather's never-ever-quit attitude, mostly the annoying parts of it. I know my father is successful because he doesn't give up on anything that is important, even though he's scaled back his physical ambitious to more reasonable levels as he ages. But I think I may carry even more of a burden than my father or grandfather, or my mother on her own, because I got some sort of crazy combination of perfectionist and obsessiveness tendencies which leave me in a perpetual state of being overly unimpressed with myself and motivated to try harder. Was I ever 10 and able to lie down on the slopes and bury myself in snow and chillax even while the clock was ticking and chairs still open for another run? I don't remember it. I remember competing in tennis tournaments around the state at that age. I remember wanting to squeeze every last micogram of toothpaste out of the tube. I remember wanting to ride my bike around the entire island and being disappointed that I wasn't allowed to. I remember wanting to swim out to the islands in Kailua Bay, wanting to bring a full sized shovel to dig to China, and wanting to build my own anything and everything in the garage workshop.

I remember being mildly content with each forgettable W on the tennis court and completely crushed with every L. I remember chasing the swifter runners around the track and the smoother swimmers in the pool, always expecting myself to be able to compete even if/when I couldn't, always looking in front and never once glancing back. I don't remember many moments of just experiencing life through relaxation. I remember a plethora of attempts to improve for the future. I remember hitting tennis balls with my dad, and the ever-present opportunity to get ice cream afterward if I could keep a rally going for 50 shots, then 75, then 100. That was one of the ways my father knew he could get me, I would rather die of exhaustion on the court than give up on returning a measly 25 shots in a row, and with each miss I'd double-down my efforts and be even more committed to hitting the mark. I didn't like ice cream nearly as much as I despised failure.

Cody doesn't have this burden. I don't want to put it on him. But yet I do want to encourage him somehow, in subtle ways, just like Brad did, and like Shane does for me. Because without encouragement, most of us don't self motivate at the right level. That is why I blog, the one or two comments allow me to see my words and thoughts through an alternate perspective and this adds up to enabling the growth of my perspective as a writer. It is why I long to be in a relationship, where my partner can offer me pure and honest feedback about how my actions and words affected them. I don't want to infect Cody with any of my mental disorders I have, but I'd like to see him stretching towards his potential once in a while. Because I do honestly feel that there is far more mediocrity in this world than excellence and I am supremely enamored with excellence. I'd like Cody to choose that himself and I don't want to trick him into that choice either.

So, there you go. I took a kid to the snow for the first time and wrote a 10 page essay on how I'm managing my disappointment that he didn't bust out a double McTwist in the terrain park even though he handled his first day far better than I did and I had the benefit of many ski days and twice as many years of age leading up to my first day on a board. I'm so not fun to end this with my screwed up thoughts instead of a "life is roses and youth is all pure joy" sentiment. I suppose deep-down I am worried that I do not measure up as a potential father, that I will never learn how to inspire without micro-managing, that I can lead only by example and not by instruction. And mostly I worry that my leadership is lacking in the most essential ingredient of all, balance. Perhaps that is all just my insecurity speaking today.

Seat

2012-02-17T01:14:00.000-08:00

February 2012 is apparently going to be a pretty rough month for John Friend. I'm nowhere near able to comment on his specific situation (alleged misconduct involving of sex, drugs, and money, basically your typical abuse of power theme) but I do think these recent events bring up an interesting topic that I have spent a good deal of time thinking about: the seat of a teacher.

I really like the phrase even though it's sickeningly yoga-esque. I like it because it's a reminder of what I think is the most important criteria for being a good leader: humility. Sitting down is an act of humility, much like bowing or opening your arms to greet someone. On top of that, our bum, aka our seat, is often the body part we are least proud of, the one which is least representative of our confidence and individual awesomeness. So, when we refer to our seat, we are talking about the part of us, or the role we are serving in, which is entirely about supporting others, and not about feeding our own sense of worth. The seat of a teacher is the one nugget of altruistic truth that makes the entire effort of leading worthwhile. It is within the seat of a teacher, where the purity of unidirectional, unconditional giving is manifested.

As a leader, we often find ourselves in situations where the perspective of those we are in charge of leading is skewed. I've observed this from both sides, both in my own adoration of some of my leaders, and in the way I've been treated while leading. A special sensitivity is necessary to hold the seat properly, sometimes a gentle touch is appropriate, sometimes a strong push is needed, and other times an objective mirror is the tool that works best. Each situation is unique because each individual is unique and it takes some intelligence to avoid hammering a square peg into a round hole. What is universal, however, is how we as humans act when we look up to someone as our teacher and how vulnerable we become by doing so. It's as pure as the love of a child, but the effect on the leader can be dangerous and intoxicating.

I've been in charge of a group of 10 software developers, I've coached a group of 15 or so runners, I've lead 2 yoga classes, I've taken care of a dog for 10 years, and I've been a big brother for almost one year. Such is my leadership experience. It's not much, I would characterize it as very limited, nothing that comes close to being an actual parent and being responsible for the beginning stages of life or being in charge of hundreds of people in a large company. I consider myself as a complete novice when it comes to leadership, an unseasoned rookie. And, yet, with all that said, I think I've still learned quite a few lessons from those limited experiences. Paying attention is the best chance to learn, as the opportunities to see what doesn't work very well are ubiquitous in our daily life. It is upon that experience which I base my premise that humility, above all else, is the key to high quality leadership.

The thing about humility is that it there are a ton of words that can be used which might seem to imply humility, empathy, and understanding. I'm not talking about words. People can lead by using the right words for a period of time but eventually words fall short. Words are the tools of salesmen and initial impressionists. Words are wonderful, don't get me wrong, I love words, but when it comes to interpersonal relationships, words are limited. We remember actions and more than anything, we decipher character based on interactions in 4 dimensions. The inner marrow of personality is eventually exposed, and our complex reactions to people in our life are reflective of the judgements we make about that marrow even if it takes years. One of the best parts of life is that we all like different things, we all are attracted to different people. There are those who desire words of affirmation even if they aren't backed up by intrinsic moral fiber, and then there are those who seek out that inner fiber even if it is disguised by all sorts of crazy words. I could just as easily be describing the dating process as the selection of a guru, the search for the right job, or the method by which a team of champions is assembled.

I'm not going to comment on John Friend's moral fiber because I haven't seen it and I don't know any of the facts. But I know that I can only respect leaders who have demonstrated their humility to me. Humility is having the option to do something for you but using that option instead to do something for someone else. Humility is putting other's needs in front of your own. To win my adoration as your student, you have to show me that you would carry me up a mountain on your back. Shane does this for me every morning we work together, he does so with compassion, and through sharing the joy he feels for creating positive changes for my benefit. I think I get more positive energy from experiencing his humility than I do from any of the physical capabilities his efforts have brought into my practice. This morning, for example, I pulled off my first attempt at titibasana. Sure, he was holding my feet for me, and even then it still didn't look anywhere close to the way it should look, but I owe all of the attempt to his continued belief and guidance. I realized immediately afterwards that I was more stoked to feel like I was rewarding his instruction with this attempt than I was about the significance of the attempt for myself. Shane doesn't work with me to earn money or to make himself feel awesome, he does it because holding the seat of a teacher in this context is his dharma and he believes in the importance of that.

I'm not sure how effective I am as a leader. The feedback I've received has been, for the most part, fairly positive, but there has been some negative feedback as well. Some of those I have lead have mentioned they felt empowered by my ability to explain, assist, and direct them to solve problems, build applications, lay out a design, execute a training plan, or work towards alignment. Ironically I remember my own mother saying what a horrible teacher I was when I tried to help her with Word Perfect, back in the days before Windows and Microsoft Word. Maybe I have improved since then. I'd like to believe that is the case. Regardless, I'm convinced I can keep improving as I get older.

However, some of the negative feedback about my leadership is also very valid. I get carried away at times and I say some crazy stuff. It's easy to see why. All of the positive energy of being in a leadership position has an effect, it is a powerful drug, and it can skew perspective on both sides. It's really just basic math, if you take a strong leader's personality as x and divide it up among 15 different students, you get x/15 going towards each student. Then if you add up all of the energy from those students, averaging y, you get 15y going towards the teacher. If we assume y is at least half of x, the ratio of teacher energy to student energy is 15y : (x/15) = 15(x/2) : (x/15) = 15 * 15 / 2 : 1 = 225 : 2. Or, in words, the leader of a small group of 15 people receives two orders of magnitude more energy from the students than each student receives from the teacher.

The only check and balance on this effect is humility. And that humility has to originate from within, it cannot be enforced by an external entity. We have to actively temper our perception of own greatness in order to effectively lead others who will want to see us as greater than we actually are. We have to become servants in order to be great leaders. We have to do everything in our power to continue to support those below us if we want to lead them to their own excellence. Leadership is entirely about holding that seat of a teacher, about protecting, nurturing, and going to battle for those in your care. Far too often, especially in the corporate workplace, leadership centers around looking good to the next layer of authority, making the grade, passing the test, hitting the mark. I think that is why I dislike corporate leadership so much.

I know this goes against the mantra of "love thyself" that is so prevalent in yoga. Perhaps the desire for self love is exactly what makes yoga so susceptible to cults and leaders who abuse their power. I know that whatever leadership skills I do have center around my own belief that I am a student. If I am able to inspire or instruct in any meaningful way, if I am a halfway decent friend, it all is based on a foundation of sharing what little I've learned or what I've managed to figure out after multiple failures rather than dictating the correct plan of attack or prescribing a standard of care. I know that I relate much better to people who can poke fun at themselves than I do to those who highlight their accomplishments or achievements. Because a little bit of humility, a splash of self loathing, coupled with the sense of humor to highlight individual absurdities, is a sign of a balanced human perspective in my book.

I usually comes across to other people as the guy who is too hard on myself, and I accept that it seems that way on the surface. I don't ever really want to be content with who I am today because I can always do better tomorrow. I can always try harder, and each new day is an opportunity to improve in all sorts of regards. It's not very yogic to be constantly searching for more humility, but that is my path, just as I constantly search to improve my fitness, my eating, and the central balance of my life. I accept my discontent and I use it to thrive. I know that's not how most people operate.

Being a leader is such a unique and delicate responsibility. I do not take it lightly on either end, not as a student, nor when I attempt to hold the seat of a teacher. I know we are all human, and we are all imperfect beings, but I think playing by the general rules goes a long way towards sustainability. Don't lie. Don't cheat. Don't steal. Don't abuse privileges. It's all pretty basic stuff, so I don't know why it's so hard for so many people. I believe our greatest responsibility as a leader is to look after those we are in charge of, even if that means putting our own desires aside. Maybe I just take it all way too seriously, but I simply don't know how to operate any other way.

Mom

2012-02-12T13:42:00.000-08:00

I miss you. I know today isn't a special day. It isn't your birthday, nor is it the anniversary of your death. But I couldn't help thinking about how badly I'd like to just talk to you and how sad I am that I can't. I thought about you during my run today, how much you loved to run, how that turned into a passion for walking on the beach, but only with a big straw hat and before 10am once you had a few melanoma's removed.

I remember this shirt my dad has on. I bet he still has it.

I would want to hear you tell me what your life is like if you were still alive. I would want to see you enjoying retirement, just like your sister seems to be. I would want to hear about how wonderful it is to be a grandmother, about the bond you feel for the 3 girls Leila has brought into this world. I would want to know what life is like for you after the immediate responsibilities of parenting wrapped up, but you never got a chance to live that stage of your life. I would want to know what it's like to live with my father, your husband, and all of his quirks. I would want you to tell me how to keep a marriage together, how to listen, and how to talk, where compromise is important and how to stand your ground without disrespecting your partner. I would want to hear about your latest challenges, what is on your mind, and what motivates you. You always had such clear cut opinions about things. You were the glue that held our family together, the rock that supported all of us, the organizer and the enforcer. I miss being able to talk to you about how you did all of that, why it was important to you, and what ways I could be more like you. I feel myself drifting without you.

Pretty sure that is me on the right.

I wonder what you would think of my passion for running and for yoga. You were always moderate with your pursuits. I blame your choice of husband for the extremes and obsessions that leaked over into my dna. But the organization and the compulsions, that came from you. I wonder what you would think of the house I've put so much time into, of my failures and of my accomplishments. I know you would have advice for me, you were never one to be silent when it came to that. It's just been so long without you that I no longer know for sure what that advice would be. And maybe, just maybe, I might actually start to listen to it now.

I love the fro my mom is sporting.

I am approaching 40, and I'm about the age you were when I first became aware of the particulars of your personality, how different you were than other moms, and the things that were important to you. I remember you forcing wheat bread on us, how we couldn't have sugared cereal or soda, and how you constantly tried to shed those elusive last 5 lbs and how I never understood why that mattered until I got old too. Ironically, 2012 has me eating healthier than ever before. Would you approve, or would you think I'm taking it too far? Would we connect even more now than we did when I was younger?

This looks like the PCT trail on Mt. Laguna just past Dale's Kitchen.

I think about religion a fair bit. I struggle with how strong your belief was in God and how short your life ended up being, how much you felt you left unfinished and unexperienced. I've had a hard time resolving that inner conflict since you left this world, and I haven't really figured out what my views are on religion without you around to tell me what to believe in :)

This is where my definition of family started.

Today, for whatever reason, I just wish I could pick up my phone and talk to you. You've been gone for almost half my life now and I still feel like I'm trying to catch up to where you were when you left.

Happy Valentine's day, mom. I love you.

Wire

2012-02-10T12:23:00.000-08:00

I did a little retail therapy this week and picked up a new toy for the master bathroom:

At $80 I wanted to give it a spin and indulge myself. I've been carrying my laptop into the shower lately and while it's nice to have music, I worry about knocking it over, getting it wet, etc. I actually suggested to my dad that he check out roku back when he was using an old laptop for netflix streaming. After playing around with the roku a bit on my last two trips home, I was tempted to get one for myself sometime. The WD player is a lot like the roku only it's more adept at playing local content. We happen to have a number of movies on our file server now (thanks Trevor) and I figured I should make them accessible in the event I decide to spend 2 hours in the ice bath.

The new toy needs a shelf to call home

While playing around with the toy last night with neighbor Brad and roommate Trevor we got into our usual discussion about wifi vs ethernet. I realized that most other people, even very tech-savvy people like neighbor Brad, aren't as silly as I am about hard-wired network devices. Most other people configure things for their wifi once and forget about it. My guess is, most homes have no more than 3-4 devices. In other words, most homes have no need for any more than the 4 ports offered on most routers. I, on the other hand, have a 16 port gigabit switch connected to my gateway and almost every port on that switch has something plugged into it. When it comes to wires, particularly network wires, my freak flag flies at full mast.

18 network jacks + 6 RCA jacks = 100% geek

I'll start with my Uverse Gateway (aka the cable modem) connected to a uverse DVR (this is the one internet enabled device I no longer have any interest in, I'd get rid of it if roommate Paul didn't like himself some Tosh.0 and Squidbillies.)

Every home needs a 16 port gigabit switch

The uverse gateway is connected to my gigabit switch, or more accurately, the switch uplinks to the gateway, so that's port 1 on the switch (or port 16 depending on how you see it, although the switch in question is auto sensing so you can uplink from any port, we could call this port 7 if we wanted to, I don't even remember which port is connected to the gateway.)

What about the other 15 ports?

1. Sony Blue Ray Player (for firmware updates mostly since it doesn't do streaming content, I bought it just a bit too long ago.) I can just plug this directly into the gateway and probably will if/when I need to free up a spot on the switch.
2. My mini ITX Windows 7 web/ftp server and htpc (www.daveeasa.com and ftp.daveeasa.com all run off this box, it uses 20-some watts at idle so I don't feel too guilty leaving it on permanently and it has gigabit ethernet so it's more than capable of serving up content to multiple devices at the same time. The drives are hot swapable from the front and are currently stocked with a 2TB music and photos drive and a 3TB movies drive. The other cool point is hdmi out with audio so I can just do one cable to the receiver and I still have an analog audio out or optical out I could use for a 2nd zone (i.e. watching the dvr in the living room and listening to pandora off the htpc in the kitchen). I can do slideshows + music for parties, and it's a 1u rackmount so it takes up almost zero space, plus it's so easy to swap drives in/out as price points drop and hard drive capacity increases.

My friend Shelley calls me "Man Cave Dave"

All of that is on a dell half height server rack in the man cave. From top down the server rack has an unused KVM mounted high (which should probably be moved lower since it can't opened in the position it's in) then the gateway and dvr sitting on the top shelf. The next shelf has the receiver. The shelf below has a blue ray player. Then I have a blank shelf which currently has some dvd's on it b/c junk seems to have a way of piling up where open space used to be, and then the bottom shelf has the 1u computer and a power conditioner underneath it (think glorified powerstrip).

But wait, you say, that's only 3 of the 16 switch ports, what about the other 13? The answer lies in the fact that I have a one and a half 12 keystone wallplates filled with network jacks which feed throughout the rest of the house (the other half of the 2nd 12 port plate holds 3 pairs of rca's, more on that later.) Yes, I painstakingly ran 18 network cables, more than 1000ft of cat5e, some through the attic, some between the two floors, everywhere I thought I might need them. I only missed one spot so far, I didn't cover the far side of the kitchen and I'm a tiny bit bummed I forgot about that. I'm a big fan of wire, particularly network wire, and I'm a bit of a grump about wifi for anything that doesn't have to move around. And we aren't even really getting into the 15 different runs of speaker wire or the hdmi and vga cables.

Let's do a top down approach to the final 13 switch ports which are connected to most of the 18 available jacks.

Two wires are coiled up in the attic, unused, waiting for their shot. I'm going to take one to Paul's bedroom this weekend so he can skype with his sweetie in private and not worry about the wifi flaking out on him. I always intended to put at least one jack in that bedroom and so far it has none.

Two go to Trevor's bedroom which I built out as my home office. I gutted the closet and did some shelves up high and a really wide marble desk, then the power and network jacks below on left and right side, leaving the center of the desk for kicking the wall when the app I'm building doesn't compile. I've never actually sat at that desk, as soon as it got done my life situation changed and Trevor moved in. Since he doesn't have any need to hang up clothes, and he spends a lot of time in his room watching movies, it's a pretty good setup for him. He has his 27" imac plugged into one of the jacks and I've got an airport express in the other jack, trying to expand the coverage of the wifi better. I could just get a better router that would cover the entire house, heck that would be cheaper than the overpriced airport express, but I like the uverse firmware for routing incoming web/ftp traffic to one specific server regardless of IP. And I like the name resolution from inside and outside without having to use .hosts files as I did with cox cable's barebones router. So, anyway, Trevor's bedroom has 2 jacks, Paul's bedroom has none but should get one of the 2 spares which are sitting coiled up in the attic like a snake, waiting for him. That leaves 9 open ports on the switch or 12 jacks left to cover.

I have one network drop in the corner nook just outside my master bedroom. That's where I have a 2nd mini-itx pc mounted underneath a triangle desk with a bosu ball chair. This is a complete desktop setup, but it really exists only to upload my garmin data for me. I charge my ipad, my garmin, my mp3 player, my phone, and my laptop. It's a perfect setup for me, I spend at most an hour of my day at that mini desk, and yet it's fully usable for 8 if I ever needed or wanted to work from home again. We're down to 8.

Home office on a budget

I have two jacks inside the master bedroom. One was intended for an alarm control panel, I just ran a wire to where the old alarm panel was installed since I thought that might be a good idea. I ended up using it for my chumby (think internet enabled alarm clock) because the damn thing would drop wifi every once in a while and that irked me to no end. So I splurged on a $10 usb ethernet dongle and now the chumby is super reliable although having 2 wires coming out of the back is a little unsightly even if the dongle itself is tucked away behind my nightstand.

Overpriced alarm clock thanks to /mdk

The 2nd jack is the one in the master bathroom that feeds the new streaming media player hooked up to my bathroom tv. So now I can sing along in the shower and not have to hear my own voice like I do when I have the laptop going in there. And I don't have to worry about knocking over the laptop and breaking it on the tile or getting it wet. The media player plays every file format I have on my server (avi, wma, mp3, etc) and has all the online streaming services (netflix, pandora, etc). It's really cool, very fast, and super easy to use. Ironically, I have no network jack for the wall opposite my bed, and no tv on that wall either. My gut tells me that most normal people with multiple tv's have one in their master bedroom. And I can't say that the concept is abhorrent to me, but I just always envisioned a really resonant piece of art for that wall. If anything, I'd like to try to simplify my bedroom even more, the less clutter I can see from bed, the easier it is for me to drift off to sleep.

So that's a half dozen left. We head downstairs for the rest. Starting from the street, I have 2 wires between the phone access box and the man cave server room. This was mostly to handle a possible future fiber connection (thinking way too far ahead) from the street (don't ask me how this would even be possible, I just ran wire in case, though I should have run fiber too, but I didn't know too much about which type of fiber to run, so I just ran some boring cat 5e.) So, that's 2 cat 5e cables sitting around unused and purposeless, jacks which go nowhere effectively since the other ends aren't hooked up to anything. Maybe someday this would support network monitoring of a solar power inverter or an electric car charger since it's right next to the circuit breaker box. Or maybe I steal one of those wires for the east wall of the garage if I had any reason to do so.

This weekend's efforts will center on finishing up the garage audio.

Speaking of the garage, I have two jacks in the media closet in the garage which is in the northwest corner. Those are actually connected and I have a dell mini 9 netbook to jam pandora or stream files off my server when working in the garage. The mini 9 is small and fits in the garage media closet with room to spare, but I think I much prefer my new toy's streaming capabilities since the mini 9's atom processor leaves something to be desired in terms of performance when running windows. It seems to be OK with ubuntu, so I could swap that out too, but I think those things are mostly throwaway at this point. The western digital streaming device has hdmi, optical digital out, and a remote control whereas the netbook has vga only and no remote. The future of home entertainment does seem to be shifting towards these streaming devices which are basically stripped down, single-purpose, low power, small form factor computers.

So, we're down to 4 or 2 depending on how you count (since the 2 wires to the phone/cable street box aren't connected to anything) The last 2 that saw any real use are in the dining room and are currently not connected to anything, but at one point this was the spot where my downstairs pc lived. Then I got a dining table and had to move the desk away from the wall to make space for it. Now the jacks aren't used, though they'd be the perfect spot for a tiny printer since they are right by the front door. Or, if I ever pony up for my own iMac, since I already bought this super cool wall mount for it, I could consider using that wall and hard-wiring the iMac. Right now the stand is on the wall opposite the jacks, the one place where I should have run network cable but didn't, and now it's too late since everything is closed up and it'd be a ton of drywall destruction to steal from the one side to feed the other side. So, to offset my stupidity, I use this absolutely beautiful iMac wall mount as an apron hanger.

Last, there are 3 jacks on the wall that has the tv, along with 9 speaker cables (2 for the kitchen, 3 for left, right, center, 2 for subwoofers + rca's for powered subs, 2 for front surrounds aka wide front). Those 3 network cables are not currently used either, they are just sitting around waiting for a purpose. Since I ran the speaker wire I figured I'd run network cable as well since the wire itself is pretty cheap and so many devices can put it to use.

I experimented with an infrared extender over cat5 for the tv remotes since all of the parts are in the man cave which is in the back corner, but never got that device to work properly, and the IR to RF extenders I was using seem to trip out the uverse dvr (though they work well for all of the other devices) so we just keep the door to the man cave open for now, at least until I get a new logitech universal remote with built in RF (aka the 900 which costs an arm and a leg.) The left and right network jacks on the tv wall may never see much of any purpose beyond temporary use, but the one in the center which comes out with the hdmi cable that feeds the tv will most likely be useful when we upgrade to a new tv since almost every new tv comes with an ethernet jack for firmware and streaming.

And that is how a geek like me puts a 16 port gigabit switch to work. All of which reminds me of perhaps my favorite scene from Breaking Bad: ("What element comes to mind???")

Crutch

2012-02-08T23:32:00.000-08:00

I realized today how reliant I am on finding my edge. It only took me 37 years. It is an obvious crutch for me.

What was special about today? I fell off the wagon. I broke rank. I caved.

This whole 5K training plan requires a lot of patience. I have heaps of patience for some things like waiting in line. But I have an addiction to visiting my edge and this is precisely where I routinely run out of patience. I am really quite hopeless. Today I gave in and knowingly swapped a 20-30 min easy run for a 10 mile zone 3 effort. All runners know to avoid zone 3. No coach ever includes a zone 3 run on a training plan. Avoiding zone 3 is one of the first things you learn about heart rate training. But natural human tendency is to do all of your training in zone 3. It's just hard enough to feel like work, but not so hard to really extend your limits. Zone 3 is that comfortable edge that so many of us enjoy spending time in. Zone 3 is the source of the whole "no pain, no gain" saying. Zone 4 is where real gains are made, but when you're training in zone 4, you don't have the ability to think of much more than how much time or distance is left before the interval is complete. Zone 3 gives you space to think "hey, I feel good today."

It was actually on the mat where the events of this morning finally sunk in, or more specifically, during the 2 minutes of surrender series in Tabu's sculpt class. It's hard to use the word "yoga" to describe a sculpt class, and it's even harder to call Tabu's class "yoga" even though it takes place in a yoga studio. Sure, the guy can do all sorts of actual yoga poses, he is certainly qualified to teach yoga and then some, but nobody goes to his class to work on king pigeon, bird of paradise, or full splits. People go to his class to get shredded and walk out feeling slightly less awesome than when they walked in. While I watched him grope the ripped 88 pack of the female in front of me as she held high plank after a series of mountain climbers and one legged burpees, I realized how non-yogic the whole Tabu show actually is. I don't really care to be honest. Yes, I do love yoga, but I am quite fond of being yelled at as I crumble and Tabu delivers on the later even in moments when he isn't terribly focused on the former. He blanked my mind for 58 minutes tonight and I realized how good that felt as I sputtered through the 10 second savasana at the end of all the fun. He delivered pure gold, exactly what I was needing, and he satiated me to survive another day of patience before my next significant workout. What I like so very much about Tabu is how he routinely chastises me at my weakest moments. When I fall apart he is there to mark the date and time for my permanent record which he keeps in his mental rolodex. He sees it all, and he makes sure I know he is watching everything. Oh Tabu, how I long to one day survive your class, to complete it without sitting out even one rep. But I know you will never let me. I know you would consider it a sign of failure if I were able to do so. You dangle the carrot of competence far enough out of reach that I know I will never taste it. And yet I keep coming back for more because I am addicted.

It's a weakness that I am attached to visiting my edge. Yes, that's right, a weakness. I know how that sounds. I know I probably come across to some who may not know me as an arrogant, egotistical, self centered, self important a-hole. My first impression leaves much room for improvement. But, yes, I wholeheartedly mean weakness when I refer to my personal attachment to my edge.

It's not insecurity mind you, none of my reasons for doing what I do have anything to do with anyone else's impression of who I am or what I want anyone to think of me (and yes, I do know that we tend to think people think about us a lot more than they actually do.) The bottom line for me is that I simply don't experience peace without extreme physical suffering escorting it in.

Other people, _normal_ people if you will, can experience a _normal_ workout and reach their happy place without having to get in the octagon with their edge first. This is how most people operate, crutch-less, and much more capable than myself. Break a sweat, maybe even hit zone 2, shower up, put on some cute clothes, paint your nails, and feel really good about yourself. I wish I were able to feel that way in those circumstances. Perhaps most people don't have restless mind syndrome like I do. Perhaps normal people are just more reasonable in their tolerances for distraction and their expectations of a clear head. Or maybe everyone else on the planet has a far easier time shutting their thoughts off? Was I the only one who did not get equipped with a quick release between my body and my mind?

My edge is my crutch for me precisely because it is the one consistent way to blank my mind. To reset my inner chatter's clock, I first reach a point of physical failure at which time my brain shuts down in self preservation mode. And, very much like a pothead, the more I visit my edge, the greater my tolerance becomes and more and more effort is needed to come back next time. As I get fit, the edge recedes, just like my hairline. Some days I am physically incapable of willing myself up to the top of the mountain and I get no release, those are the days I struggle through things without knowing why it all feels harder than normal. But, in between these less-awesome days, there are moments of perfect purity that creep up every now and then when a hard workout falls into place just so.

Just like the stunning beauty I feel when I look up at the full moon, reaching my edge and falling over the cliff beyond my breaking point brings me to a space where I no longer wonder if everything is ok because my brain has ceased to understand how to even ask that question.

Time

2012-02-03T17:50:00.000-08:00

A key component of my sanity is downtime. Time spent doing less-than-productive types of things. In yogic terms, savasana is the ultimate pose because it embodies this sense of letting go. The alignment in savasana is primarily mental. It is the ultimate surrender because it requires no effort. And, thus, it is one of the most challenging asanas for me. I routinely skip savasana. Routinely. I am not proud of this. It illustrates my deep seated sense of restlessness that mires my life in overdose and keeps inner peace at arm's length.

The turn of the year lead me to give up a few things that I dearly love in an attempt to restore some of my lost sanity. I decided to put my formal coaching duties on indefinite hold, I decided to not coach the spring season because I did not feel I had adequate time to give it my best and I did not feel comfortable giving less than that. Then, at the end of the month, I reached the conclusion that I had arrived at the end of my journey on the yoga instructor path, that I would no longer pursue that as a future addition to my life.

These decisions were difficult for me. I despise quitting, especially when I see it surface in myself. I've yet to experience a race where I crossed the start line but not the finish line, though I realize eventually that day will come. I've only given up on a few non-work-related projects in my life, college water polo and my yoga internship. I don't relish feeling this way.

Sometimes when I reach the point of overload and I observe my sanity slipping away I am coherent enough to look around at the others in my life. Only sometimes, usually I'm just slipping off the cliff into my own little meltdown. But, recently, I finally admitted that my two roommates might know a little something I don't. Both of them do a halfway decent job of taking care of themselves with R&R. So I started trying to follow their lead. I started going to bed earlier like Trevor and I started making breakfast like Paul. I found clarity from these simple changes, clarity that was escaping me earlier with my tendency to keep myself in motion during every minute of every day.

A reclusive period ensued. I built a small cocoon and I finally forced myself through some savasana. I started running again and decided that time deserves priority over distance and that I needed to cross off the sub 16 5K on my list of meaningless accomplishments. I don't think I raced a single 5K last year, it's been a long time since I've really battled the clock for every second, but it seems fitting to do so in 2012. Sunday will be my first B race to get used to that 5K pain, the moment when the monkey jumps on my shoulders and starts pounding my chest into my legs and my gut into my spine. I look forward to the clarity it will bring.

With the decision to give up these two parts of my life, things I desperately crave, much like the constant thoughts of food during my juicing days, I have restored a bit of inner peace. With that inner peace I can try, once again, to reach out and give to my friends, the very friends who I neglected over the past few weeks and months.

Shane's words this week have centered around the breath and how valuable it is when we pay attention. The concept is, if we were drowning under water and somehow managed to get to the surface, our first gasp of breath would instantly be the most valuable moment of our lives. But, without the framing, without the context of the true importance of each breath to our existence, we so quickly forget the relevance of opening our chest, expanding our ribs, lifting our belly, and drinking from the most basic nourishment of life.

With that, I'm off to core restore. My least favorite of all yoga classes, and perhaps the one I need the most.

Weigh

2012-01-25T10:22:00.000-08:00

An unintentional and yet not completely undesirable side effect of liquid nutrition is a far too rapid loss in body weight.


Monday	Tuesday	Wednesday

PR

2012-01-24T23:02:00.000-08:00

On the heels of the SR PR from Sunday, I finally got my 2010 Chicago race report written.

Why

2012-01-24T12:46:00.000-08:00

Why, Whole Foods, why? Why do you torture me by putting the pastries and coffee bar next to the juice bar? You know it's going to take 10 minutes for the long haired dude with tattoos and earrings to make that $7 cup of juice I ordered. Can't you move the cookies somewhere else? Do they really have to be in my line of sight while I wait for my 4oz wheatgrass shot that makes me gag?

I know those vegan cookies are waiting for me in the fridge. Perhaps I'll have one Thursday morning when I wake up. It will feel like Christmas after these 3 long days of food abstinence. Those sprouted wheat bagels were probably not allowed anyway since they have wheat in them, so I shouldn't be too bummed that they are growing mold on my desk. And that fridge full of greens, it's going down tonight. The kale and rainbow chard won't know what hit it when I'm done with them. My Vitamix will make it's maiden voyage with me down struggle street for a slimy, green, plant based, liquid dessert tonight.

Halfway there, 1.5 days to go.

Juice

2012-01-23T22:33:00.000-08:00

I just reached the end of day 1 of my first ever juice cleanse.

It's a bit of a fad and I despise it for that reason. Oh, and I think I hate it because I don't get to eat. That part really annoys me.

But, attitude is everything, so let me try to highlight the positives:

1. I finally used the juicer I bought in 2005 for the first time today. It was kind of fun mashing up a big mess of pulpiness.

2. I spend a lot less time eating now that nutrition comes in liquid form.

3. I've sampled a number of different teas over the past few days and I'm becoming more of a fan. I still miss my Jura though, it's all clean and ready for me when this foolishness ends.

4. When I drop $80 at whole foods, I get more than 6 things now that I'm buying roughage.

5. I no longer have mood swings due to blood sugar levels changing before/after meals. Instead, I'm perpetually depressed about how hungry I am :)

In all seriousness, this whole thing kind of fell in my lap because of my inability to say no. And then there's the whole stupid challenge aspect of it that in a way does appeal to me. I've never fasted, juiced, or cleansed. I figure it might actually be good for me to get a handle on my cravings by forcing myself to eat like my jaw is wired shut.

Still, with all of that said, I can't wait for this to end. I was grumpy enough with the whole "clean eating" business last week, but this no-chewing thing takes it to a whole new level.

One down, two to go.

Satisfaction

2012-01-22T23:57:00.000-08:00

This afternoon I suggested tennis to my little brother and I was pleasantly surprised when he accepted. We spent about an hour hitting balls back and forth, and while we probably didn't ever have a rally with double digit hits, I still found it enlightening on a completely different level than what was happening in the physical sense. This afternoon was my first chance being on the other side of the net, the side my father occupied almost every weekend between 1984 and 1986, my 3 years of competitive tennis. He instructed me, encouraged me, and patiently rallied with me as I improved and tried to learn and grow. My little brother has a much healthier outlook on competition than I remember having at that early age, and I did not want to burden him by taking the fun out of it, but I found myself still offering up suggestions on how to hold the racket, watch the ball, shuffle his feet, or even just general court etiquette. I have this natural, pre-programmed desire to share what I've learned with others, particularly others who may not already have formed their own approach to the task in question. And yet, because of how forceful my father's instruction has been, I'm keenly aware of the need for sensitivity, the need to allow others to learn in their own way at their own pace. I try my best to not bully or force my plan, though I'm sure I'm often a victim of my natural tendencies.

All of this thinking reinforced my theme for today, that what we want as adults is exactly what we wanted as children. A security blanket to feel safe on our own (the blanket just gets more expensive as we get older.) A loved one nearby to cling to in a moment of need (first a parent, then a friend, then perhaps a lover, and maybe ending with a child or grandchild.) Finally, perhaps what we seek the most regardless of how much we know and how much confidence we've gained, we all want the encouragement, support, and instruction from a parent/mentor/guru/friend/therapist/boss. They are all so basic, these needs of ours. While the stakes do change throughout life, as does the seriousness with which we play the game, these universal needs remain constant.

What I find most amazing about life is how true the adage is, "It's not what you got It's what you give". OK, yeah, I was/am a Tesla fan. I know that's weak sauce. It is what it is...

What does "giving" mean within the context of running? For me personally, I express giving by pacing and more recently by coaching. I had new highs with both today, out on the Carlsbad marathon course, and I was blown away by two individuals who performed at a level that exceeded any expectations I started the day with.

Ryan, my first coached athlete, busted out a 3:54 first marathon off of 12 weeks of training and only 2 runs longer than 15 miles in his life. I thought he might not finish. I thought he was looking at 5 hours. I may have even given up on him as a coaching failure (and attributed the blame to myself for not solving the complicated equation of his busy life and his commitments to his family.) I was wrong. The man is a beast. Imagine what he could do if I actually got him prepared. I was ready to learn and move on before I saw what he did today. Now I'm waiting for him to recover from his 26 miles and 12 x 12 oz curls so we can see what the future holds. It brings me such intense satisfaction to know that I didn't royally screw things up for Ryan, one of my most admired friends, but instead I actually helped him achieve something of significance that he might not have been as successful with if I had not contributed. This thought carries a fullness, a richness, that exceeds any personal accomplishment I've ever had.

Skinny Runner

On to the main event, the exclamation mark of the day. Sarah, aka SkinnyRunner, busted out a 5 minute PR in her 26th marathon with me along for the ride as her co-pilot. It was a beautiful thing to watch, and it reminded me of Hillary's ultraman run finish, Lisa Thomas's Chicago PR, and Jessica's San Jose speed session. Sarah cracked the top 10, and I honestly believe she exceeded her expectations as well as mine. To have had the chance to see all of that, to be there with her, was very special for me, not because of the thousands of people who follow her blog, or the hundreds who yelled at her out on the course, but because deep down, ignoring the makeup, the celebrity following, and the purse dog, I really, honestly, do admire the human within.

Sarah's garmin logged more miles than mine did last year. She raced more than I did. She routinely bounces back from a marathon with a hana hou the next weekend, and even pulled off 3 marathons in 8 days two months ago. That kind of mentality raises my eyebrows because Sarah is basically living my dream life. She works herself ragged 4 months of the year and spends the other 8 chasing the next race, the modern day yuppie version of a deadhead. It sounds sublime to me, perhaps because I understand the obsession and the desire to feel the cleansing purity of physical pain, the desire to challenge the body on good days and bad, and the joy and freedom of performing one of the most basic acts the human body can do, and of fine tuning that experience into harmony.

I actually wasn't sure that Carlsbad would happen. When I threw out the option to Sarah a few months ago, when I mentioned my intention to pace her to a PR, it wasn't really first thing on her mind. She was, and still is, quite content training how she wants to train (which is big mileage and little rest) and letting the races sort themselves out. She has a very healthy outlook about the number on the clock, which is ultimately meaningless compared to the sensations of the day and the emotional experience of the journey. Meanwhile, I felt that she had done enough racing to justify a substantial dip in her best time, but I wanted her to want that, so I just threw out the offer and figured it might never happen. She wanted to run RnR AZ and then she'd consider Carlsbad if she didn't pull off a PR out in Arizona. As it went down, she wound up with a 3:23 that she felt was fairly lackluster, so I checked back in with her on Tuesday to see where her head was at. The response was very real, very raw, very indefinite, so I assumed she needed some time and maybe we'd connect in the future. On Wednesday night, apparently after some liquid encouragement in the form of margaritas, she went all-in and told me she wanted to go for it. I was terribly grateful because I was scheduled to do this juice cleanse thing on Friday and by pulling the marathon card, I managed to postpone that until Monday (oh what hell awaits me tomorrow!)

We met up in the parking lot at 5:15, only I needed about 15 minutes to find my gloves, put on my shoes, etc. So, I kind of made her wait for 15 minutes in her car before I ventured out to find her. Sorry, I pulled the chick card this time. We walked to the start and a few people recognized her, even in the dark. I started to worry about this being a long day of watching her sign others bib's and I even felt bad for forgetting to bring the sharpie. We started off slightly slower than desired pace but just about in the right spot to avoid going out too hard. Marathon starts are a tricky thing, especially at Carlsbad where it gets a bit congested for the first mile. Start too close to the front and you end up running the first mile too fast which sets the table for failure. Start too far from the front and you get stuck behind too many people and you burn up a lot of energy weaving through the masses. We probably err'd a bit on the conservative side, I could have been more forceful here, but I was trying to go with the flow and feel things out and I honestly hadn't ever run 3:20 before. Sarah stuck to me well through these first few dark miles, She was doing her part, talking, asking questions, responding, and of course encouraging all of her fans along the way. We caught up to the 3:20 pace group near the power plant, at mile 4, and managed to get ahead of them by mile 5 for the turn onto Palomar Airport Road. This was the time to settle in, after our initial pleasantries were established, we both felt comfortable enough sharing space.

I started to notice that we were holding 7:30-ish pace even going uphill. Prior to the inland portion of the course, we were no more than a minute under 3:20 pace, probably less than 30 seconds. But during that climb I realized that Sarah was able to run under 7:38 pace, uphill, without unnecessary effort. I tested her a few times by hanging back on the steeper sections and she kept flowing forward. She had her garmin on but not in a mode where she could see pace or mile splits, so I was in charge of monitoring pace. On the way back down we ran a few 7:10-ish miles and the 3:20 pace group actually caught up to us for some reason (don't ask me why.) Sarah didn't really want to run with them, so we kept rolling and eventually drifted away, either that or the 3:20 pace leader finally realized he was too far ahead of pace and backed off. Within the Lupus Loop, Anna joined up with us, running strong. The three of us had a nice chat throughout the loop and back out onto the coast. At poinsettia, roughly 16 miles in, I saw Tim, Kris, and Fishstick. Tim cheered, waved, and then ran up to us for a chat. I thought that was a wonderful omen since Tim was my first successful sub 3 pacee when we tackled Vegas in 2005. After Tim dropped off, Sean from Zoot introduced himself to us and we all kept chatting up a storm to La Costa.

In 2011, a bit before La Costa, I fell off the pace with Joey and two other leaders of the women's marathon and settled into a walk/run until Morgan caught me and I regained a purpose and started running again. After 12 years on this course, I know that making the turn at La Costa and feeling good enough is a world different from making the turn and feeling spent, or worse yet, pulling the plug before the turn. I knew I felt good and I thought the conditions were near ideal. Sarah gave no signs of slowing down, we had continued a 7:15-ish pace since halfway and I knew we had at least 2 minutes, maybe 3 in the bank. I told her it was game time, or in Rod's words, time for the big boy pants. The last 8 make or break the day, if you run them strong, you hold pace or maybe even pick it up a tiny bit and finish with a special memory. If you struggle and suffer, you can throw away all of the seconds and minutes you worked so hard to earn earlier in the day. Most of the pace groups break up at the turn at mile 18. It's just the point in the race where truth becomes objective, when you know how the day is going instead of hoping, guessing, predicting.

Sarah says she felt like she was slowing down over the last 10k. I've looked at the numbers (I'll let her decide if she wants to post them or not) and I see an objective toughness in them that rivals any strong athletic accomplishment I've witnessed. I'm sure the effort increased, but the pace didn't change. I think Sarah's marathon experiences in the past were generally kept within the "pleasurable" zone of pain. But what do I know, I don't get to experience things with her legs, through her thoughts. I only know how my race experiences have felt, and my natural tendency to go out hard and hang on. Sarah is wired the opposite way, she often pulls off a negative split and she usually is very strong at the end. I knew that mentality, that toughness, is the gold tender of the marathon, but I wasn't quite sure how much I of it I could afford to spend along the way.

As we merged with the half marathoners, 6.5 miles to go, I started picking up my verbal chatter while she started retreating and quieting down. I think I even heard a grunt or two in that final 10k. I started getting water for her, so she could focus on running a straight line and conserving energy. I had given her only one mile split, mile 12, which was a 7:10 but I explained it away as a downhill mile. I assured her that she was looking at a 3:1x and the x was the only number she could control. I'm not sure how well she could feel pace or how aware she was. We passed the 3:15 pace group leader at Carlsbad Village Drive, but thankfully he only had a stick with no time on it because I guess they forgot to use staples this time. I'm not sure if Sarah saw this. Anna had left us a few miles earlier, at the Palomar Airport Road underpass, and she was running really strong, what a great finish for her. Between Palomar Airport Road and Canon, Sarah had asked me to run by her side instead of ahead of her. I thought that was a particularly heartwarming request, not only did she validate my efforts and how they were affecting her, but she was able to instruct me about how to achieve maximum benefit with minimal annoyance. This was 4 hours or so after meeting her for the first time. If only I could learn to communicate that clearly.

The last 2 miles, basically the stretch from downtown Carlsbad back to the mall, can feel like an eternity but really isn't all that significant. One of the miles is slow with some climbing, the other is fast since it's at the end and has some descent and then the finish. I've been through that before and I know how much doubt can surface in those moments, but as an outside observer I felt completely confident by that point. Sarah was strong, she had passed all of the tests and there was nothing left to worry about. She made the final turn and ran away from me to the finish line, with an aggressive surge that may have even caused her to break a sweat. After the finish, her face betrayed a look of substantial exhaustion. Then she chugged her 12 oz bottle of water like a frat boy and proceeded to grab another. That was almost more impressive than the race itself. Alexis Brown came up and offerred up congrats as the first official finish line fangirl (thanks Alexis!) and the slew of congratulations ensued.

Hundreds of commenters, and I'm sure as many or maybe more emails and texts from friends, all say the same thing, expressing joy with Sarah's accomplishment today. I don't want to think about how much work it will be for Sarah to respond to them. This outpouring of gratitude really does underline what Sarah represents to her readers. You can hear it in their words, the inspirational qualities of someone who leads by example, setting a modern day image of what being a woman can mean, of how power and strength can be incorporated into the essence of femininity, faith, and self confidence.

HURT 2012

2012-01-17T00:05:00.000-08:00

Photos from HURT 2012

Flashback -- 2011

My first year at HURT, 2011, was memorable for a lot ofreasons. I paced Alyssa Godesky,who became a cool new friend I wound up sharing both adventures and advicewith. In preparation for the raceI made my first visit to the bench at the top of the Nuuanu trail honoring thelife of Kent Bien, Rod’s dad, and an early role model, the first Navy Seal Iever knew. It rained a bunch lastyear and the course was a mudfest so the course was memorable for how wet andslippery it was.

This year, my 2^nd trip back specifically for HURTweekend, was a little different. Fora second time, I booked the trip before I knew who (if anyone) I might wind uppacing. This time the pacing planstarted out as Iso Yucra, who changed up his schedule fairly early on whichbounced me over to Keith Kirby. The week of the race, Keith had to DNS because of work, which landed meon Andi Ramer’s team by means of my Hillary connection.

There are many parallels between Andi and Alyssa, so it isquite fitting that my 2 HURT’s were spent with them. Both are women of incredible toughness and resolve. Both have a multisport background andspend hours on their bikes and in the water in addition to running. And the fun part is that both aresimultaneously cute (am I allowed to say “hot”?) and yet completely down toearth. One fond memory from thisweekend is hearing Andi recount how she had her shorts around her ankles with atube of Vaseline in one hand and her other hand attending to the details ofdesperately needed lubrication when Hannah, another female runner, chanced uponher. Apparently Hannah busted outlaughing so hard that she fell over and stayed prone for a while. This could just as easily have beenAlyssa and I know neither woman would feel any shame for that type of exposureeven if it had been another male runner who caught them in the act.

Looking Ahead

Simultaneous to this weekend’s events at HURT, the Avalon 50(my first ultra) and the US Olympic marathon trials all shared the same spotlight. Back in October I got to witness LisaThomas grab her 2:45 qualifier for the trials, so there was a lot ofsatisfaction for me knowing she was out there soaking up the race of a lifetimewhile I would be HURT’ing my way through the trails thousands of miles away.

Remembering

Thinking back through my pacing experiences over the pastfew years, I’ve escorted 6 dudes (Tim, Rod, Mike, Jeff, Scott and a guy namedFred) and I’ve accompanied 9 women (Stephanie, Sarah, Joey, Hillary, Alyssa,Lisa, Jessica, Rachel and Andi) along with a few impromptu pickups at variousevents. I find it fascinatinglylucky that I’m on a streak of pacing women lately, not only from the obviousaesthetic advantages, but also because the dimensions of the female brain trulyamaze me and sharing precious moments with a women tends to have a greateron-the-surface emotional impact than it does with my guy friends.

Friday

I flew to Oahu on Friday, as a late arrival, but without anyreal need to attend meetings it seemed like the right day to fly. I took the bus from the airport (#20with a transfer to #5) and arrived home about 3 hours after my flightlanded. I didn’t mind it thatmuch, and it was nice to grab a bite at Ala Moana between busses, but I can’tsay that it was an efficient use of my time. I finished off the day with a 6pm class at Yoga Hawaii andfound my way to Whole Foods, singing the parking lot song the whole way. As I parked, I noticed the signs in thenearby window indicating the future home of Core Power Yoga Honolulu and Ismiled thinking what a nice addition that will be once it opens. I paid my $80 for 6 things, includingmy signature $20 salad, some PB&C Puffins, and a $5 Kombucha. I spoke to Andi over the phone, butsince I had come down with the flu on Thursday I decided to stay away from allof the runners, it seemed like the right thing to do anyway and I’m not one toenjoy any of the pre-race hype.

Back at the house I unpacked a pc I had brought to upgradethe machine in the attic and into the same suitcase I packed up the remainderof my father’s train set from when he was a boy, to be put on display at myhouse along with the rest of the set from my previous trips. I dismantled the old attic pc, a $200Dell 400SC, complete with Pentium 4 processor windows XP and 4 256MB DDRchips. It was time to say goodbyeto that, it had served its purpose valiantly, but it was now 3 generations oldand ready to be put out to pasture. I make a point of doing a little bit of upgrade work every time I comehome in order to keep my dad’s systems up to snuff because he isn’t the type totake care of that for himself. Ithink the prior addition was a gigabit network switch and before that a wholebunch of new network drops. Nextup it will probably be time to build him an i5 or i7 machine. Ah, but I digress…

Saturday

I woke up on race day and watched the sun rise from bed,which is one of the really cool reasons to sleep up there. Of course Andi had started her journeyat 6am, but since I was sick I really didn’t want to get in her face until itwould be too late for her to feel any negative effects from the exposure. The attic bedroom is really more of aplayroom, but has a surprising amount of stuff in it for how tiny the dooris. The door from the 2^ndfloor to the attic is very narrow, the stairs are less than 3 feet wide, and atthe top they turn 90 degrees and a 4’ tall opening leads into the room.

The Futon

Getting the queen sized futon up there roughly 10 yearsearlier was a feat I admire even today. First I pulled it up in a plastic bag until it got stuck at the topmostbend, an oversized burrito and an opening which was barely wide enough to fitit square on, but which only had about 3’ of depth to make a 90 degreebend. As I pulled from above, theplastic started to tear so I knew I had to rethink my plan. I wound up started to freak out a bitabout being trapped so I decided to crawl over the rolled up futon, with barelyenough space to fit my head and wiggle like a snake on my belly. Then I had to figure out how to foldforward over the back of the futon, without pulling it down the remainder ofthe stairs on top of me, so holding onto the flimsy handrail and placing myhands on the step and my feet on the walls for balance. Somehow I flipped myself right-side upand then, facing down the stairs, used my quads for leverage to push the futonburrito through the opening bit by bit. The leverage from pushing seemed to exceed the pulling leverage, perhapsbecause as I got halfway I had access to the bended portion and I could workboth inside and outside sections of the bend.

The frame of that futon was something I built out of 1x3’sat the Carlsbad house. I usedscrews, put it all together, sanded it all smooth, and then labeled each piecewith a sharpie. Then Idisassembled everything, packed up all the boards and brackets in a bundle, andshipped the futon and disassembled frame with a boat based shipping company inLA. The frame managed to make the turn OK since the boards were so thin, and thenwith a cordless drill and some matching of labeled joints, the assembly wentfairly smooth. The end result is aqueen sized bed in the attic which makes sleeping up there pleasant as well asfun, with a beautiful view of Diamond Head (the best view in the house) and ofWaikiki, oceans and mountains. There is a wonderful breeze with the window open, although with thewindow closed it does heat up during the day. And with the network drop and wifi, it’s a fun room tolinger in as the morning progresses. The only reason to leave is to start the trek to the kitchen, down twoflights of stairs and across half the house.

A Day of Indulgence

I decided since my pacing was set for lap 5 that I shouldget an early workout in, so I threw on my swim shorts, added on run shorts andswim goggles, and headed up to Paradise Park to check in on the progress. I got there a bit after 8, after mostof the peeps had gone through on their first lap, and made sure everyone wasprogressing nicely. I didn’treally want to see Andi or anyone else from SD at that point for fear ofgetting someone sick. I continueddown the valley and off to the Ala Wai canal and eventually to Ala Moana BeachPark for my first (and so far only) swim of 2012. I actually really enjoyed my swim, a stead 40 minuter for 2kin the saltwater protected space of one of the best free swimming spots in theworld. I cruised home and ate moreof my whole foods gatherings from the previous night, then shuttled back to theyoga studio for the noon class since my wanderings had missed the 10:00vinyasa.

The noon class was my first experience attempting the firsthalf of the Ashtanga primary series. I relished the challenge as I felt remotely ready to try and I alsothought that exposing myself for my maiden voyage to Ashtanga at a studio wherenobody would know me or remember me was a nice safe spot to do so. I also felt that if there were any sortof “softness” to an Ashtanga teacher, it would be found in Hawaii, at ahalf-primary series class. I reallycan’t do the last 1/3 of the primary series, it’s a lot of lotus and itrequires some hip flexibility that is just a long way away for me. Being perfectly honest, I really can’tdo any of the primary series, but I think that’s part of the appeal, a sportwhere reaching some basic level of competence in the “primary” series couldrequire a decade or two of dedication. Ekam, Trini, all of the fun counting mesmerized me and I got lost in therhythm of voice and breath, of trying to do things that I can only just barelydo, with grace that I don’t have, and with an ease which betrays the effort Iinvest. It was a wonderfulexperience, a great way to lose my Ashtanga virginity, and certainly a landmarkon my yogic journey. Another quicktrip to Whole Foods for a few extras and I bumped into Clare Conners with hersister Christiana (not sure I’m spelling that right) and a friend. It was great catching up with Clare andreliving some of our moments post-high school when we found the time time toget together, one specific night in Brooklyn when Clare lived with the founderof Victoria’s Secret.

Oh yeah, but there’s a race going on, right? And wasn’t I feeling guilty for beingso leisurely with my Saturday (ok, I did get a 3 hour run/swim in, but still,shouldn’t I be doing my yoga final from November or writing up my collegealumni interviews or at least doing my tax prep?) Well, the “island style” attitude got the better of me afterhanging with Clare and I decided to go see my first movie of the year, so Ipopped into “The Girl with The Dragon Tattoo”. Having read the last 2 books of the series and seen all 3Sweedish movies, I had high expectations, and I have to say I really enjoyedthe American adaption. It doesn’ttake away any of my adoration for Naomi Rapace and the realism of Sweedishwords with English subtitles, but I’m just a sucker for Hollywood andespecially for Lisbeth Salander, no matter how “soft” she is presented. What an inspiring character, someonewho has no concern taking James Bond as her sidekick, seducing him in her ownway, and tossing him aside when he no longer satisfies her.

Oh yeah, there’s a race going on. But it’s an ultra and it’s HURT so it’ll be going on for awhile.

Checking In

After the movie and another $20 salad, I wandered off toNuuanu and the Jack Ass Ginger aid station to meet up with Andi’s husband, Don,and say hi. This was Andi’s 3^rdloop, and she could have taken a pacer since it was dark already, but shedecided to complete 3 full loops on her own, then take Don through the nightand have me for the victory lap. Everything seemed great, I got to rub shoulders with Rod and see a fewpeeps. Then I headed off to bedwhile Don left to get ready to pace/crew and I got a nice night’s sleep. I woke up a few times, waiting for thatNuuanu time check to show on the website before leaving the house, and arrivingabout an hour early without eating breakfast, my first and only real oops ofthe day.

Sunday

The thing about HURT is that it’s a long day. Towards the end, it’s normal to take 7hours per lap. So, the 8 gu’s Ibrought with me weren’t enough. Ishould have taken a full spread of breakfast but I got all stressed and I ranfrom the house to the nature center so I stood around for an hour waiting andgetting hungry. The rule is thatpacers can eat from the aid stations, but I felt like I shouldn’t be takingfood until I’ve at least run one leg of the loop. Andi showed up and got re-lubricated, re-packed, and readyto rock. I didn’t have to do athing, Don had it all dialed in despite his all night pacing efforts. We headed out for our last lap, ironichow day 2 of a race should have felt like the tail end for Andi, but yetleaving the nature center, approaching a 7 hour journey on trail, seemed verymuch like the beginning of my HURT experience for me.

The first trip up from the nature center is predominantlyuphill and allowed us to get right down to talking. I got the cliff notes on Andi, her family, her marriage toDon (who she has known her whole life and has been married to for 15ish yearsnow) and her racing history. Wetalked about Hoodoo, Furnace Creek, Rocky Racoon, Ultraman, and San Diego100. We talked about Hillary,about running, and about bikes, both training and racing. We talked about work, why and how wemake the sacrifices we make to do what we really love, and how different and attimes disconnected we feel from the corporate world. And before we knew it, we were descending towards ParadisePark, aid station #1 on her fifth HURT loop, my first.

Paradise Park Aid station, named “Manoa” as it sits at theend of Manoa valley, at the access point to the Manoa Falls trailhead, wasthemed as Pirates for some reason. Regardless of the goofiness of that decision, they had a great spreadand I wolfed down some breakfast eggs in a flour tortilla and felt better withsomething in my stomach. I got abit of feedback from the volunteer who filled my pack who reminded me that Ineed to be drinking water too, as I hadn’t done much of that while I was busyflapping my gums. Andi, however,seemed to be doing just fine, except for a few fairly normal lubricationissues. The thing with Hawaii isthat the humidity forces a high sweat rate which means after a while you startto chafe as the salts in your sweat start causing friction. Rinsing with water works, but once thedamage has been done, lubricant like bodyglide or Vaseline becomes the primarytreatment, but it’s hard to apply with all of the moisture and sweat,particularly when we’re talking about the sensitive parts of the body. I think this is just part of the sport,the expected pain and suffering that accompanies 100 mile racing. It is definitely nice to not worryabout eyeballs freezing up or frostbite and windchill factors, so a bit of chafingseems like a reasonable price to pay. Many runners actually wear full tights for this reason, the ankles stayclean of mud that way and the thighs presumably are protected. For me, with my anatomy, tights tend tobe the worst option, and a long short is preferable, although in Hawaii I cansometimes get by with short shorts if I keep everything flushed since the sweatkeeps everything slippery.

Oh yeah, there’s a race going on, right?

The funniest thing about HURT is that it doesn’t feel muchlike a race to me. Maybe it’sJohn, the race director, who is so darn chill that he could be mistaken for arandom dude in a chair with a laptop if you didn’t know who he is. The whole thing is so mellow, it startswith a conch shell and it ends with the runner kissing a sign saying “wewouldn’t want this to be easy” in Hawaiian and English. In the meantime, all of theparticipants and competitors seem to be so mellow that they don’t really givemuch of an impression of the competitiveness that drives them to attempt afinish, or attempt a win or top 5 or sub 30 hour race. I watched as Jason, the winner in 22hours, cruised through Jack Ass Ginger on his 4th lap, with an 8 oz bottle ofwater and a headlamp and a few gu’s. Apparently he has trained his body to subsist on next to nothingsomehow, I don’t know how, and it works for him. It’s pretty difficult for me to fathom how he can run asfast as I did at States, on a course that is an order of magnitude slower.

Oh yeah, back to Andi, right? So, the trip from Manoa to Nuuanu is the shortest section,but not particularly fast. We stopat Kent’s bench for a little break, Andi does some stretching and some eating,and we descend to Nuuanu. We windup talking a bit less, the initial burst of energy of me as the new pacer hassubsided as I hit the midpoint of my 7 hour journey. Andi is still moving very well, and we approach Nuuanu withthe intent of making up some time on Rosie, the woman about 10-20 minutes aheadof Andi.

Now for some reason, the final aid station at Nuuanu, nextto some locals smooking pot at the Jack Ass Ginger swimming hole, seems to domore harm than good. Don handledthe final exchange really well, and we even got Andi some PB pretzels while Istuffed my face again and coked up a little bit too (actually I think it waspepsi.) As we leave and cross thestream, which is way lower than last year, I slip in and get both feetsoaked. Oh well, only 7.3 miles togo, no big deal. Then, about 3minutes later, as we pass Jack Ass Ginger, moments after saying “just make sureI stay upright” Andi slips and falls between two large rocks. I laugh a bit at the silliness of itall then help her find her way back upright, probably putting too much pressureon her armpit but trying to do my best to support her weight so she can saveher legs for propulsion. The climbtakes a fair bit of time, and it seems to zap Andi’s strength. She has a minor pity party at the top,on Kent’s bench, releasing some of the emotion of a long journey now at the 30 hourmark. I can relate to some of thefeelings, but realistically, my longest race is only 22 hours, barely more than2/3 of where she’s at. I amsomewhat confused and unprepared at how to deal with this flurry of emotionwith 4 miles to go. She doesn’treally stop for too long, so there isn’t much I need to do as far as “help” isconcerned. She is moving justfine, not fast enough to catch Rosie, but not slow enough to worry about thecutoff. I could probably havepushed her here but it seemed cruel to attempt to do so. We just kind of settle in and I let herget away with some of the pity and tears hoping that the emotional relief willbecome a positive. I focus on allof the “this is the last time you’ll…” but its not sinking in much. When we get across the road, I thinkthings smooth out a bit and as we start the final descent there is a bit morespring in her step. We shufflethrough the rocks towards the nature center, with Andi hoping we might crack 34hours, but eventually realizing we’ll be a couple of minutes over.

The finish line brings back the tears of emotion, coupledwith her southern accent and diminutive stature, which just make her seem socompletely extra adorable to me. Into the arms of Don she flies, he says with smooth and completeconfidence, “I’m so proud of you” which is just the right mix of words at justthe right time. You can tell inher face that this finish means a lot, that it means more than I canunderstand. Perhaps because myfather’s house is now so close to these trails, because I run portions of themalmost every time I’m home, maybe I don’t understand what it means to anyoneelse because I’m so self absorbed in what they mean to me. For me, on a hot day, the trail systemis a chance to escape the sun, to not need sunscreen, to maybe even skip onwater and just bomb my way up and down, or to cruise it with water and soak inthe beautiful views and picturesque trail in the middle of a lush green forestof bamboo, banyon, kukui and guava. For me, the trails are an escape from the world, accessible only a fewshort minutes from my father’s driveway, a chance to be alone with myself, ortogether with a close friend or two. I have many wonderful memories on those trails and I hope to have manymore throughout the rest of my life. I’d really like to visit them more often.

Back to the Real World

I leave Andi and Don, crank out some paced miles back to thehouse and hop in the shower to make dinner at Buzz’s at 6pm. There wasn’t a lot of extra time. For some strange reason, it’s just the3 of us at dinner instead of the expected 5, Dr. Hellreich and his wife,Miriam, are no shows which is a first for them in the 30 years offriendship. Gerri, my father’sgirlfriend, eats quietly and patiently, plays the cards she usually does in thegame of trying to capture my father’s attention away from the plastic blondeaccompanying the blue haired man with the big wallet at the table next tous. We go back to the house forpecan pie, my dad flips on the Roku I told him to get and falls asleep to somestrange grade C movie which is thankfully not a science fiction thriller thistime which makes it bearable for 2-3 minutes before I head off to check on myathletes schedules and spec out the next week.

Monday morning starts leisurely, some discussion withHillary about how awesome Andi is, some reviewing of the Olympic Trialsresults, and my typical travel-morning pancake cooking routine. This time I used too many eggs and the‘cakes come out like my signature bricks, but at least my improved cookingskills do not turn out hockey pucks. I take off for a 90 minute run around Diamond Head, shower, pack,leaving a few items for the next load of laundry, and it’s back off to themainland. As I watched out thewindow during the early part of the flight I saw the most amazing sky, orangeon the horizon and purple beneath the clouds.

Contemplation

I contemplate HURT 2013 for myself. I also continue to contemplate moving home forgood. I have a hard time believingI would be a colossal failure despite the obvious deficiencies in jobopportunities for database developers on Oahu. I think my father’s biggest apprehension is that I wouldn’tbe able to scrape enough pennies together to afford living in Hawaii. You hear that from everyone, butthe irony is that all of these people giving me this advice have survived andsome even thrived (in an objective sense) in the environment. Sure it’s not easy. Finishing a 100 milerun isn’t easy. Life is mostcertainly not easy.

Follow

2012-01-13T08:48:00.000-08:00

Learning how to follow sounds like an oxymoron. But, if we define yoga as the cessation of unnecessary mental chatter allowing a connection to the divine, perhaps it isn't such a stretch to frame the art of taking someone else's lead as a progressive learning opportunity. Dancing has a clear leader (the man) and follower (the woman.) All businesses have org charts defining the control structures in place. And, perhaps the most basic form of interaction we experience, the parent/child relationship, is all about learning how to lead and how to follow, ideally from both sides of the equation.

One of my favorite compliments of 2011 occurred when a friend told me she thought I was a good listener. Perhaps because this was unexpected, perhaps because I have some insecurity in that aspect, it meant a lot to me to hear someone say that, to hear someone genuinely express approval of my ability to listen and understand what they had to say.

Anyone can talk just to hear themselves speak. Anyone can bark orders, no matter how relevant or useful they may be. A lot of people struggle with this, for reasons of self confidence, lack of subject matter expertise, or general shyness in public. There are so many opportunities to hone the craft of leadership and so much has been written on that subject that I don't feel any need to add my own take. Strong leadership is seductive, inspiring, and the reason we feel the excitement of life.

But learning how to follow is more than just saddling up to the strongest bull you can find and holding on as long as possible. Learning how to follow is all about bending but not breaking. The best followers have a suppleness to their character which allows them to absorb from all of the corners as well as the center. The gold in life is buried in strange places, it doesn't sit on the surface waiting for us to come along, pick it up, and put it in our pockets. It requires some effort to find the gems we seek, and that effort is the art of following.

Following starts by placing our own self interests aside, at least for the moment. A strong ego can get in the way of our desire to follow because the ego likes to steer and following is all about relinquishing control of the wheel. But following is more than just letting go.

Following requires action, understanding, and absorbing the lessons, the teachings, the intent, and the meaning behind the instruction and example set for us. But it is important to not follow blindly. To be a good follower, we must question all leadership all the time.

First, we try to understand the message, the intent, the context, and the purpose.
Then, we decide how to implement that mantra into our own lives, how to incorporate or internalize the teaching.
Last, we have to evaluate our interpretation and results compared to the original, how well did we transform as a result of the instruction? This requires a look backward in time to the before image and a comparison with the present moment.

Very few people take time to do this. I honestly believe there is great value in learning how to follow, great value because of the wealth of life experience that is available to us when we truly open ourselves up to absorbing it.

And I don't just mean great professors or gurus or life leaders, I mean everyone around us, the homeless, our neighbors, the most humble of souls all have lessons to teach us every day, all we have to do is learn how to listen.

Beach

2012-01-11T00:09:00.000-08:00

In just about every office in Hawaii you can find a version of the "The worst day at the beach is better than the best day here" signs. Just like how one out of every 50 cars has the "New York - London - Paris - Waimanalo" bumper sticker. It's part of life in the islands and it helps everyone keep things in perspective.

I just stole this photo from my sister's blog. It's as horrific as anything I can imagine, so of course I feel a need to re-post it. I shake in disbelief that I looked like that. But, it does bring back good memories of one of the most special beaches in my heart. My mother's ashes were spread in the water just offshore. I spent most of my free time in the water and on the sand, until I got my license and started driving to some of the other breaks.

There's something that just doesn't suck about the beach.

I also got this today, in a message from Craig Watson who grew up very close to these cliffs. When we were young and foolish, we jumped off spitting caves a lot. Jon Everest even did his fiction and film project with a small segment of Rob and I jumping off, some sort of Phoenix rising from the ashes theme, which never really made any sense to me.

Spitting Caves

I fly back home on Friday. Every trip home is a blessing, every return trip is a tragedy. Maybe some day I won't leave for a really long time.

Fault

2012-01-09T16:55:00.000-08:00

My friend Jess Taylor introduced me to road cycling and open water swimming in 1998. I met him while working for Ibis Consulting in San Francisco, on the PG&E conversion from GASTRACC to GTS. The software architects on the project designed something that went off the deep end of abstraction and OO to the point that it barely met the functional requirements due to performance. So they had to cache pre-built objects in memory and then save them in the db, and use complicated triggers to indicate when the objects needed to be rebuilt, all to save time that didn't really need to be spent in the first place if they had been less rigid about how things _should_ be. I know all non-software-developers don't understand what I'm describing so I'll stop there. Suffice it to say that a lot of work was done to achieve what could have been done with a less elegant solution which probably would have naturally performed better but wouldn't have been as intellectually stimulating. The major lesson I learned from that project was that performance needs to be a consideration up front, not after the fact, because design decisions can put major roadblocks in the way of system performance. For a real world example of this, think of freeways and onramps, bridges and tunnels. It takes years to rebuild some of these to handle unexpected traffic flow, which justifies a bit of extra time up front to analyze and predict what will be needed in the future. The same is true of software, except that the divide and conquer methods of construction don't work in software, it's not nearly as easy to scale with additional bodies because of all the coordination and communication that needs to occur and how difficult it is to see the product in intermediate phases.

Oh yeah, on to my topic. Jess has a PhD in Geology and would show off some of the cool stuff he learned whenever an earthquake hit (which is fairly common in San Francisco.) Which brings me back to my state of mind, of how a fault line functions, and how similar my own personality is to a geologic fault. Everyone knows the basics of plate tectonics, how rocks press up against each other and eventually release in a movement known as an earthquake. I feel like my mind and my body work in a similar fashion based on external forces. With enough pressure, I snap, releasing a whirlwind of excessive energy. Learning how to control these situations has been a life's journey. I still don't think I have a handle on any of it, but I do feel an increasing awareness of how it all works as I more frequently take the seat of the observer in my own life.

Last week and this weekend, forces escalated. I was informed by the man who will most likely become my boss that I should plan to stay at work on Monday until the system works. Define that however you want to, one possibility might be 6 months, but at the very least it seemed like it'd be a late night or two and a rough week. We were getting a cd of source code via fedex at 10am. Source code I had never seen before, from a company I knew well enough from prior positions to expect a fair bit of mess. So, it was difficult to not fear Monday morning throughout this weekend. I winced and braced for impact as I entered the building today.

On top of that, my little bro wanted to play paintball. Getting hit in the mouth by a glob of paint is actually not as much fun as it might sound. Running around and getting dirty, which could have been a blast at age 10, is much more a source of concern and fear (will I hurt my bad knee tripping over this ditch? Does this stuff come out in the wash? How will I get my hands clean afterwards? What about all the second hand smoke I'm exposed to out here?

Add in a fundraiser run for a different friend, which found me playing a role of keg-transporter, and the only moments I really enjoyed this weekend were the 3 hours on the trail (mostly by myself since my fleet footed friends who run more than once a week dropped me at mile 3) and the hour in Kenna's class Sunday evening. I crave moments of physical punishment and the release that they bring to my thoughts. I remember feeling an incredible sensation in pyramid pose, an asana that I've become increasingly fond of, when I could finally let go of all the angst that had built up since Friday. I started to release boatloads of tension through my practice and ended feeling relieved even though the full moon had me distracted and confused. I think going 48 hours without a visit to my mat is a recipe for disaster at this point, such is the magnitude of the addiction. And I think there is something truly centering about pyramid pose. The scissoring of the hips combined with the hamstring stretch which is different on each leg and the pressing of the crown towards the foot. All of those waves of energy combine to a swirl that can be delicately intricate over time. Pyramid also has elements of balance for me, as a balanced challenged yogi. It has my head below my heart which is the basis of any inversion. And it is one of the asanas where I need both muscular energy to apply force and organic energy to surrender. The quadriceps engages while the hamstring releases. It's got it all, and yet it's a very basic posture, no advanced coordination or insane flexibility is needed to feel the incredible sensations of the pyramid. I'm starting to love it more and more every time.

I got to thinking, about how corporate America is very much a pyramid, with everyone on top fighting for more, taking from those below, perpetually unsatisfied. That's the part that really gets to me, turns my heart upside down and makes me want to pull the plug. I still think that I would genuinely be happier as a bum in Hawaii. And we'll see how much energy I put into that intention. What am I waiting for after all? I've accomplished anything I set out to accomplish on the mainland, and life isn't really about stacking up some stupid list of checkboxes on a task sheet anyway.

OK, back to my point. Fault lines. Finding fault with myself. Other's faults. And, the corporate workplace. So, the cd of source code was delivered. I was unable to build it since the desktop I grabbed last week when my laptop blew up on me has 32 bit windows 7 instead of 64 and I only had the binaries for 64 bit sql server so I couldn't get the project to build completely without a days worth of downloads or wiping the machine and installing 64 bit win 7. But, a few hours of code inspection lead me towards the root cause, which wound up being an "s" in the wrong spot. Plural vs singular, when used in function calls across web services where strings are generally used for names. Abstract interfaces which would allow the logging of method names (if someone had thought ahead to write that in) and a lot of signature copy-and-paste type of mentality which is what colors the fault lines of this specific vendor. Ill conceived code is easy to write, just command/control C and command/control V and then edit. Sooner or later you have an unmanageable mess, but for the short term it gets the job done. When I have time to write, which seems more and more rare as I get older, I look for similarities and ways to re-factor existing modules into proper abstractions. I try to use names which make sense and are consistent. I strive for formatting which supports error recognition. My code is clean because I am type A and because I dislike debugging messy code since it makes errors more difficult to identify.

A second set of eyes, a fresh set of eyes, typically finds problems that you don't see when you've worked with that section of code for months or years. In this case, it's very easy to skip over an "s" and read the same thing in both files, which is not something that a computer is able to do. When the computer compares plural and singular versions of a noun, they do not equate. When a human does, they often do because of how we interpret the characters on the screen in front of us.

The old me would have blown up upon finding this, after a week of "you don't have things configured correctly" from the vendor to my current boss and also to my future boss. Mostly because of all the pressure put into my own week and all of the misery induced weekend meltdowns, of how isolated I felt in my opinion about the root cause and my method to identify it which wound up taking extra time because someone lost the first cd of source code. It's easy to point fingers and assign blame, blame is out there anywhere we choose to look for it. But it really isn't a game about blame. The fault doesn't make one bit of difference when looking back at the past, what is done is done and nothing will change that. The best path for the future, in work and in life, is to treat others as you would like to be treated. Sure, if I were on the other side of this equation, I would have put more effort into troubleshooting the product that was handed off only a few weeks earlier. Or, now, knowing that it was something I should have caught, I might profusely apologize. That won't be happening based on my predictions of the personalities involved. And it doesn't mean that vendor is evil or bad or incompetent like I might have believed a few years ago. It just means that people, by definition, are not perfect. We come with faults, and those faults have to be managed. Pressure builds and must be released. And with that release, things settle and go back to some semblance of normal.

For me, normal means seeking my mat, which is where I'm headed right now.

Stretched

2012-01-07T20:25:00.000-08:00

My attitude is at an all time low today.

I started writing a long vent of a post and then deleted it. There's no point in spreading negativity. Writing some of it down was enough of a release. Making it to yoga or getting a run in would have been even better, but that didn't happen.

The realization I've reached is that I'm overloaded and over-extended. Life changes await. I haven't decided exactly how far I might take this, but I'm contemplating the sell-everything-and-move-back-to-Hawaii plan. The major reason not to do that, Hunter, probably won't be with me more than another year or two. Once my most loyal friend is gone, there isn't any reason why I couldn't wipe the slate clean and start over from scratch. I'd be walking away from a lot of virtual dollars if I sell off the houses I own, or I could just keep renting them and live at home, on the cheap, with less headache than I have right now. Not having a car would be nice, not having any stuff might be even nicer. Being able to live on a few dollars and not having to worry about a large source of income would be infinitely less of a burden.

Perhaps 38 is a good time for a mid-life crisis and for reinventing myself in a completely different state with a completely different occupation and from a bare minimum of responsibility. Perhaps the weight of life and the absurdity of over-scheduling myself among too many different responsibilities, in some foolish attempt to broaden and invigorate my perspective by exposing myself to as many different personalities as I can has gotten too heavy for me to sustain.

This is where my thoughts are. I hit a bit of a bottom today, I gave beyond that which I had the capacity to give, to my dog and to my little brother, and I'm completely empty now, with a ton of additional chores to complete before I can sleep and start over tomorrow, giving to yet another friend in need. Meanwhile I get messages from friends who want to schedule lunch or dinner, time I don't have available, and I'm faced with turning down coaching and missing yoga teaching opportunities which I'd really like to pursue because there isn't enough me to spread out to those areas.

I feel like pizza dough which has been stretched until a hole has torn.

Marriage

2012-01-01T10:25:00.000-08:00

Hillary and Maik got married yesterday, in a ceremony that was uniquely theirs, and with a reception that was even more tailored to their lifestyle. Dinner consisted entirely of vegan food and was followed up by a coffee cart. The celebrant has finished multiple Ironmans and gave a speech which was as sweet as it was whimsical. Eva, the new pup, was delightfully well behaved and one of the highlights of the procession. And of course the day started with a 22 mile circle of Palos Verdes on foot which about 10 of us enjoyed as much or maybe even more than the post-wedding shenanigans. It was Hillary and it was Maik, all rolled into one fun filled day.

A few words about Hillary to start things off. I met her while racing triathlon, and we found a common space to share as soon as we figured out each other. We both love many of the same things, particularly with respect to how we approach sports. And yet there are plenty of differences, areas where one of us can contribute more to the growth in the other. This has become a great source of learning for me, from Hillary I have learned a ton about training plans, coaching, racing, nutrition, goal setting, and diving into life with vigorous intensity. She is an clearly defined extrovert, which balances my introverted personality well and makes interactions with her a constant stream of distractions and new experiences. Hillary took me to my first so-cal yoga class in Encinitas, after a long run we shared together, and introduced me to a place I wound up returning to many years later, after a failed engagement, as a means to restore my soul and become addicted to yet another endeavor.

Hillary spent a number of weeks, years ago, camping out in one of my bedrooms, training with friends, and setting an example for me of what the life of a professional athlete looks like. I remember loaning her my truck for some reason, I forget why, but since I could run to work I really didn't need it. After a couple of days, it looked more like her truck than mine, complete with clothes piles and coffee stains. Eventually, at Hillary's suggestion (and with a bit of help from David Lipke in August 2010) I started drinking coffee myself. Now my car could be mistaken for hers if based solely on the contents and mess, were it not for the absence of a bicycle or at least some grease stains. My life has been enriched by knowing Hillary, and by all of the people I have met through her and the experiences I've had following her.

I first met Maik after the OC half marathon where I ran with Hillary in some silly attempt to chase a meaningless PR. Cameron, Hillary's sister, ran that day as well, so the two Biscay sisters, Maik and I met up for post-race salads. At first I was confused by Maik, so quiet and soft spoken, a man who surrendered to the nickname "CAT" and even embraced it. How did this man measure up to my dear friend? How would he balance her and keep her under control if she considered him her pet?

It wasn't until I experienced Ultraman and then paid a visit to their home in Tucson for an extended weekend that I really started to understand the man Maik is. Yes, he is indeed soft spoken, but the German can swear up a storm too. And while he is not obnoxious nor forceful with his words towards the woman he loves, he is no doormat either, he simply explains his point of view pleasantly and calmly, often with a wit and a twist of humor. He is an incredible athlete, capable of swimming with Hillary (which is something few men can do) and able to ride and run like the wind. But none of the athletic capabilities really matter all that much. Heinz, Maik's father, reminded us that what is truly important is the attitude of "where you go, I go" which is woven into the fabric of their union. What makes Maik truly special is how he treats everyone and especially how gracefully he takes care of his Madame. There are precious few models of the modern gentleman for the rest of us to reach towards. Most men would feel threatened by the male friends of their fiance, but Mikey embraced me as Hillary's friend from the moment he met me, needing no qualifications, no proof of intentions, just pure, instant, understanding and acceptance.

Men have let women down so much in the past 20 years, with affairs, abuse, and self centered behavior that it now feels like many women are starting to catch up and follow suit, leaving otherwise comfortable marriages in tatters to chase moments of newness and excitement. The result is a society which cultivates more and more self-absorbed independents. As counterpoint, Maik is a traditionalist, coming from a family that believes in the word "forever" and demonstrates it with 40 years of marriage. I have no question that Maik will take care of Hillary for the rest of his life, as long as she allows him to. And I have no question that he will do so with grace and endless concern and appreciation for her unique brilliance. Maik fills in the gaps, the spaces where Hillary still has room to grow, predominantly around organization and cleanliness. He is the perfect choice of a rational mind for a long term companion and lover. In retrospect, my surprise with Maik when I first met him was not based on who Maik is, but on the maturity of Hillary's decision to pick him. And it really should not have been any sort of surprise, because Hillary can read people as well as anyone I've ever met.

Hillary's family is more than just a family, much more. Her mother still shares her life with her 2 sorority sisters, the 3 couples have a bond that seems to extend beyond their lifetimes even while in the midst of it. There are extended relatives that fill in the colors that shaped Hillary's life. Cameron, Hilary's sister, subtly goes about her running and work with the same passion and intensity only in a slightly more precise manner, truly earning her nickname of "Mini" with the same mannerisms, smile, and warmth, only delivered with just a touch of additional composure. Rich, Hillary's father, gave such a fantastic summary of what lead Hillary to the point she is at today, complete with all of the seemingly haphazard decision making along the way, off notes written on a yellow legal paper that looked more like the a placemat from the kiddie table than actual words for a wedding night speech. Then there is the extended circle of friends, from the Grangers, the Corbins, and the Kesslers, all setting examples of happiness through marriage and endurance sports. The long list keeps going, on and on, each friend is a series of stories that could fill a week. Within Hillary's circle, significant life accomplishments can be handed out like dollar bills at a strip club, each personal story begets another story until the theme of each evening can only be summed up as "wow." The overachievers, when combined into a small space, will one-up the other until someone gets hurt or the clock expires. There is no backing down or crying uncle in this croud, especially not with any attempts at self embarrassment. Watching everyone interact in a crowded room, the quantity of energy becomes overwhelming at times, as if watching a big day at Mavericks except only if one could imagine the foam that would be created if 20 waves all crashed into each other at the same time.

In a world permeated with breakups, both the predictable ones and the unexpected ones, the two weddings of 2011 give me a beacon of hope for the future. Hope that good choices, strong families, and people who truly desire to be together can survive as a couple for the rest of their lives, against the odds that most marriages fall victim to. Mike and Sarah, Hillary and Maik, together have become a collective example of the M word and what it means for 2011 and beyond. It is a different animal than it once was, the necessity of being married no longer exists, and with it some of the incentive has left as well. The opportunity to get married now presents itself as a means of self expression much more so than it ever was, and yet the meaning behind marriage, the fundamental willingness to be together forever, to share a life, and to support and encourage each other, is the permanent foundation which so many of us have given up on. I am so grateful to have these friends, setting this example, for me to learn from and work towards.

-------------------------------

I don't, a Newsweek article from 2010, was the source of some of the pessimism about marriage indicated above.

TBF

2011-12-26T10:40:00.000-08:00

I spent the morning of Christmas eve escorting my friend, Ryan, through his first 18 mile run. Ryan also happens to be the first athlete I am coaching one-on-one. As I am learning, 1-1 coaching is quite a different experience than group coaching. As Saturday morning wore on, and Ryan's legs started to say goodnight, I re-experienced the moments of TBF (total body failure) from the position of an outside observer. I did my best to explain to Ryan how special that moment is, when the body disconnects from the mind, but he was withdrawn (which for Ryan is an unusual experience) and well into survival mode.

Rewinding a bit, Friday night was a bit atypical. I wound up having far too much fun at a friend's birthday gathering. Knowing that I had to be at the designated start for Ryan's run, along with one of my other friends and coaching victims, Vince, and yet realizing I was in no condition to drive, 3 friends and I hatched a plan. The plan wound up with me asleep on the world's smallest couch, in a friend's apartment, without my phone but with my running shoes. Interestingly enough, while this abode has many devices capable of indicating the time of day, none of them wanted to agree on what time it actually was. So, I wound up waking up 10 minutes late, hungover, and had to bum a ride to the run start where I managed to flag down Ryan and Vince.

Now, the inspirational part of Saturday wound up being how watching Ryan do battle with his first really long run wound up kicking my own butt into gear. I ended up at the Point Loma Core Power on Saturday evening where Tabu removed any shred of composure I may have entered with. At about 2/3 of the way through that class, after multiple unsuccessful attempts at forearm stand, I collapsed into a heap on top of a puddle of my own sweat and gasped until we were granted freedom. It took me 2 hours to make my way home, after multiple stops for fluids and fuel and large blocks of time where I felt unable to drive.

TBF is an acquired taste, and it's not something everyone really enjoys. In fact, I've actually received a few direct and/or indirect challenges to my love of this feeling. Within the yoga studio, I've had others ask me with sincere concern, "are you ok?" And I've also been told on multiple occasions that pain is not yoga. While I accept everyone's angle on life, yoga, sport, etc, I also think it's OK for me to give myself space to experience moments however I want to experience them. Or, perhaps less politely, I might phrase this as "let me be". If I decide I want to push myself through substantial pain and reach beyond my failure points, then I accept that the rest of the world may not appreciate or share the joy I feel while doing so. The feeling of nakedness that exists once I've slipped over my edge and I'm in the midst of a physical and emotional freefall is unlike any other experience I have had in my life. More importantly, consistently reaching beyond failure helps me dial in my breaking points so that when it matters, in a race or elsewhere, I know my own limits and how close I can get to them before falling apart.

Ryan is feeling better today and I have recovered as well. The sun is out and it's beautiful in San Diego, a wonderful day-after-Christmas waiting for me to dive in.

Destruction

2011-12-19T09:54:00.000-08:00

Last night, while teaching a small portion of a fundraiser yoga class for one of our teacher trainers, three of the cars in the parking lot were broken into. Windows were smashed, purses were removed, and cash stolen. Tears were shed, police were called and the evening dragged on later than planned, turning into an extended period of melancholy.

Two weeks ago, during my Tuesday morning private yoga session, I tore my right LCL while pulling too hard on a strap around my foot in half lotus forward fold. I felt the knee pop as it happened and knew it wasn't the right kind of sensation. I also knew as I was pulling on the strap that I was trying too hard and I knew the risks involved with pushing the limits of flexibility, particularly with respect to joints. Shane constantly reminds me to balance my effort and power with acceptance and ease and yet my DNA perpetually wills me to override and to push harder. Watching an experienced dancer or yogi, I can't help but admire their delicate balance of muscular and organic energy because I find this aspect of movement, and actually of life, to be such an incredible challenge.

On Saturday I took Hunter to the vet and then gave him a bath. While bathing him I noticed the many skin lesions he has developed, under his thick fur, and felt sad as he winced while I sprayed him down and soaped him up. I can tell this will be his last 12 months, that his final birthday is coming up. I will be devastated when he leaves me, but I have had ample warning and I think that helps. My responsibility is to make his last days as gentle and peaceful as possible. Old dogs are expensive and while he is as sweet as he ever was, losing his mobility is a stark reminder of just how fragile all of our lives are.

These three events, random burglary, an unfortunate sports injury, and the health deterioration of my most loyal friend over the past decade, all highlight the power of destructive force when compared to constructive force. It took hours of preparation and effort to organize the series of donation yoga classes. It took less than a minute for someone to smash three windows and take what they did not earn. Within the context of Hinduism, these simple facts illustrate the power of Shiva, the destroyer. It will probably take me 8-12 weeks to heal my LCL tear, and since the injury is on the same knee as my MCL tear from March, it adds some real trickery to my half pigeon and lotus efforts in the meantime. I had intended to work hard to open up my hip flexibility as that is one of my biggest limiters, so now that plan will have to be postponed or diverted. However, perhaps the most striking example of the power of destruction is watching my dog fade before my eyes, watching him reduced to a slow hobble and dosed up with medication when I still remember him leaping with joy through the sand on dog beach. Hunter's eventual departure will be a permanent life change for me, and watching it happening is further reminder of the tremendous impact of destruction.

Lest this sound too depressing, let me mention that Shiva is balanced by Brahma, the creator, and Vishnu the preserver. Or, for the western mind, when one door closes, another opens. I have no lack of new in my life, in fact I think I have too many new experiences, new friends, new jobs, etc and that I could and should try to be more devout with the ones I already have established. I still remember all of the demolition I did on the house I live in, and how much joy came from the carcass after all of the demo was complete.

I think that what has me momentarily shifted more towards "bummed out" than "stoked," is how much more powerful destruction seems than construction. It takes only a few words to destroy a friendship that was built over years. It takes a mere handful of minutes to destroy a building that has stood for decades. Removing entropy always takes energy and comes with a cost. Once a life ends, once a soul has exited our reality, they are instantly and forever missing from our interactions.

I'm a little sad today, but I think that is OK. I'm sure I'll feel different as the week rolls on.

Honolulu

2011-12-12T18:07:00.000-08:00

History

The birth of my obsessive passion for running was the Honolulu Marathon, sometime in the 1980's, about when "North Shore" was playing at the Kailua Drive-In theater. Re-watching that movie over the weekend, my thoughts drifted back to the mindset I inhabited during those early years. Seeing a portion of the 2011 pipe classic and then watching scenes from the movie demonstrates exactly how little has changed over the years. The swimsuits are different, but the waves and beach are timeless.

The excuse for this trip to Hawaii was to run my 3rd consecutive and 4th total Honolulu marathon. Honolulu was my first open marathon back in 1999 and I still remember the pain from that 1:30 / 2:17 positive split. I managed a surprisingly decent effort in 2009 which earned me an age group W and then I followed it up with a not-quite-so-stellar effort in 2010, so I figured I might as well make it an annual thing.

Background

I invited a few friends to join me this trip and it wound up being 4.5 of us heading to Honolulu on Thursday. Jeff and Becky with their 8 month old daughter, Maya, and Amy from Atlanta traveling solo. My father was leaving for a cruise that would consume most of the month of December, leaving plenty of space for us to enjoy the views of Diamond Head from his porch while he dances his way across the Atlantic ocean.

Out of the blue, on November 23rd, Rachel Ross sent me a note asking what my plan was for Honolulu in case she might bump into me as she attempted her first sub 3. I hadn't figured out any actual race plan prior to that point, other than potentially pacing Jeff to a PR which he seemed uninterested in and unprepared for. So, I quickly decided that sub 3 would be a quality challenge and signed up to pace her with the hope that I could go back out and find Amy on the course and run her in.

Travel

I found myself a bit distracted from this trip because of the buildup surrounding the Las Vegas half with Team Challenge which was the culmination of my coaching responsibilities for 2011. With only 3 short, busy days in between, I scrambled through the work week and somehow made it to the airport before Sunrise on Thursday. I followed another weary traveler, Colleen, through 3 different itineraries because of a delay with our SAN to LAX puddle jumper due to ice on the wings (in San Diego of all places!) Colleen, acting like a participant on the Amazing Race, navigated through the mess of missing the LAX to HNL flight and watching the LAX to Kahalui flight push back from the gate, and somehow found the LAX to Lihue flight before I could make it to the front of the customer service line. We scrambled again and snuck in as the last 2 through the gate, heading for the Garden Island, eventually arriving in Honolulu only 2 hours behind schedule. Thanks Colleen!

Preparation

Thursday night we did a little shopping and cooked dinner. Rachel's son had nabbed 2nd place at a geography bee which made her a late arrival, but we all sat down to a yummy meal and some entertaining conversation. Friday was spent with a morning rain-jog in manoa, breakfast in Kailua, and an hour on the beach at Pipeline watching some of the best in the world rip it up. On Saturday, I met up with high school friend, Nicole, as I dragged Amy to yoga and then she dragged me up to the top of Mt. Ka'ala on a 6 hour, 3500' hike.

Most ridge hikes on Oahu are a bit steep and can be slightly scary for someone with a reasonable fear of falling to their death. There was one notable section of the trip to Oahu's high point which required ascending a 6' tall slab of rock that had a visible 6" gap between it and the rest of the cliff. As we walked towards the car at the end of that hike, my quads quivering, I watched a beautiful sunset and wondered how tough the race would be since I hadn't eaten since breakfast. Fortunately Rachel and Ikaika had gone shopping and cooked us all a great feast. I stuffed my stomach as full as it would go and slept like a rock.

A 5am start isn't that rough when you are on Pacific time and it feels like 7am to you. But, as I dragged myself out of bed, I definitely felt the pain from the hike the day before. It's amusing how self doubt creeps in before any event of importance even when it's another person's race that matters. Rachel secured VIP cards for Jeff and I, which didn't have tremendous value before the race but offerred us some very appreciated food afterwards. As the clock ticked 5am, we set off with the fireworks, cruising towards downtown.

Race

The first few miles went by fairly smoothly. We watched Jeff drift ahead but I managed to keep things on track for the first 3. As we neared the return to the start line at mile 4 I got too amped and allowed a split that was 20 seconds too fast, but after correcting myself we ran through Waikiki fairly uneventfully. Rachel got a shout out from some random dude that fluffed her ego and as we hit Kapiolani park which serves as mile 6 and also the finish line, I had a lot of optimism about the day. My legs were feeling OK, the pace was reasonable, Rachel was running under control, and I knew that as the darkness lifted we would get a boost from the sunlight. We passed the lululemon crew on the back side of Kapiolani park where everyone cheered for Rachel while we both tried to block out the sounds of a lead-footed Japanese man who races in a Minnie Mouse costume. I had been beaten by that guy before, during my meltdown at the 2008 Chicago marathon and I was loathe to be anywhere near him because of that memory. But, as I had told Rachel ahead of time, a PR means ignoring everything else around you, so I tried to take my own words to heart and block out the noise.

The climb up and over Diamond Head felt harder than before. Even at a pace that was slower than the last two years. I wasn't sure why, but I think in retrospect we started feeling the wind here. Even the descents back towards Kalanianaole Hwy didn't feel easy and I started getting worried. We had given back some time to the point where we were right on pace and I knew we needed to keep running 6:50's to go sub 3. As we crossed under the end of the H1 freeway, I felt the wind and knew we had to be smart until the loop at Hawaii Kai.

By some stroke of luck, there wound up being a pack of at least 10 guys right in front of us, so I motioned to Rachel to tuck in close. After a half mile with this pack I decided that I could take advantage of the situation by stopping for a pee break on the median, under the cover of darkness and with the pace setting and wind blocking duty handled by the pack. I was still optimistic that we could hit the goal because I expected a massive tailwind on the home stretch. As I surged back towards the pack, I encountered Rachel a good 10-20 meters back, no longer protected from the wind. This concerned me greatly as it was my first indication that she might not be able to hit the mark.

Rachel explained to me that she felt like she was running 5k pace. As we hit the half marathon, with me trying to coax some energy back into her long legs, the clock told us we were only about 30 seconds behind pace. That was actually just fine given the headwind, I felt like we still had a very good chance. But I didn't seem to have much of any positive effect on Rachel at that point. In retrospect, while I will never know what her legs and body felt like, I think the mental struggle of feeling exhausted at mile 13 may have been a bit of a bear that was too big to take down for her. I've been there before, both in the marathon and in my 50's and my 100, so it's not much of a surprise for me to feel like garbage at halfway. We always rally, and you never know how strong that rally will be, nor can you count on when it might start or if it will not last till the finish line.

Rachel did start running fairly close to pace after we caught the tailwind around the turnaround loop. There were definite moments of sub 7:00 pace. By then I think we had crossed sub 3 off the list, but we still had a shot at a PR and maybe top 10 among the women. There was still something to fight for, and I wanted Rachel to fight. Interestingly enough, I found myself deteriorating as well, and I felt like I was hurting pretty bad by mile 17. I am not sure if the hike took too much out of me the day before or if I'm really not capable of sub 3, but I stopped being of any real aid once we got the wind at our backs. I suppose there isn't that much more I could have done, although verbal encouragement is always well received, but I pretty much just shut down and suffered on the way home. Rachel probably pulled me through a few sections along the golf course at mile 20, and as we approached Diamond Head for the 2nd time, we both just took our beatings and tried to survive it.

Katherine joined us for the descent past mile 25 to the finish line where Rachel turned it up a notch to impress her boy toys in attendance along the final K. I was so happy to be done with that race. Despite eating 4 gu's and being 10 lbs heavier than I'd like to be, I was starving and used that VIP tag to eat half of the food in the tent and drink 2 soda's and 3 cups of coffee. Then Jeff and I took a nap with Maya while Becky went out and ran Amy in. I've had some marathons which felt strong and others where I've been humbled and this 3:08 was definitely one of the humbling varieties. It's hard to say why the day was so tough, I certainly have been as poorly prepared in the past, but something about the day just lined up to kick us all in the nads.

Recovery

The rest of the day included a trip to the OCC for some beachtime cocktails and a buffet that was to die for (thanks Ikaika). Then the viewing of "North Shore" and general laziness and face-stuffing. We finished off the weekend with a hot dog eating contest which saw Jeff crush the field, Ikaika perform valiantly, and both of the children finishing before I did. However, I did make a small improvement and finished my 5 dogs in single digits which is a nice step forward.

I wound up chatting the entire way through my red eye flight home on Tuesday and I've been delirious ever since. Hoping to get some much needed zzzz's this weekend.

Dad

2011-12-08T16:40:00.001-08:00

I wrote one of my college admissions essays about my father. It was one of my few attempts at semi-creative writing before I graduated, since I had been dealt the math/science geek card while my sister drew the one for language and communication. My father was, is, and always has been a huge influence in my life. The first things I learned, I learned from him, and to this day I am still learning about myself during and especially after our interactions, even if the focus has shifted from direct instruction to observation and analysis.

My father worked tremendously hard when I was young. He routinely spent all night on call at the hospital, sacrificing his sleep and time with his family to ensure the health of premature babies in the NICU. Some of my favorite memories of my dad are his one liners. He frequently told others that he chose Neonatology because he didn't like talking to patients, so he picked a specialty where the patient would never be able to speak. Of course, in the NICU, there is a lot of necessary interaction with parents. Some of those parents are not emotionally or intellectually capable of understanding what a physician is tasked with explaining. Hence the joke, or perhaps more aptly called a half truth, about the peace he felt looking into an incubator with a precious and usually quiet new life inside, struggling to survive its untimely eviction from the womb. Providing the basic needs of a 30 week infant, airway, breathing, circulation is the definition of living in the present. There is no future and no past to a preemie, only the simple desire to suck one more breath, for the heart to beat one more time. As a by product of this world, my father is very efficient at barking orders and perhaps slightly less adept at prefacing his instructions with pleasantries. NICU nurses have to develop thick skin to get through the inevitable loses and time spent on formality is time taken away from a life which needs it. I picked up on this and it has become somewhat of my achilles as well, being too harsh and direct with my word choice, not taking into account how what I say might affect the recipient before I speak.

My father grew up in Long Island. I lived there for almost a year in 1996, over 2 decades after he left for good, and I can see how our differences stem so much from our very different childhoods. His mother, my grandmother, spoke very little English. I spent a week with her once, sometime in my early teens, and I remember being petrified about how to communicate with her. I also remember her incessant need to push food down my throat, which was a product of her own childhood where obesity indicated wealth and where family always comes first, especially the son of the son who is intentionally spoiled (or in my case, force-fed). What I remember most about Maria was how frequently she reminded me that "bad people" lurked outside the door. Her favorite phrase was "Dayne-jer, Sete" which instructed me as grandchild to be cautious, to trust nobody. If at all possible, I should avoid even going outside. She kept the windows and doors closed and locked in the middle of summer, on a quiet residential street with barely any traffic. I once borrowed a bicycle and went out to wander and it caused her great bouts of panic until I returned home where she was able to lock me inside and drag me back to the dining table. If she had owned a plastic bubble, I am certain she would have put me in it.

My grandfather was very crafty, able to navigate the world of "bad people" and "danger" as he ventured into Manhattan on the train every morning and returned home late every evening. Sacrifice, especially financial, for benefit of the family was the end goal of life for him. I went to "work" with him once, to survey and absorb his world. I watched him fall asleep on the train and wondered if his internal clock was still functional enough to keep us from winding up in New Jersey. I remember sharing a bagel with him, walking through dirty streets with purpose, and eventually being wholly unimpressed with the reality of how non-glamorous his world actually was. The 20th century provider, hustling the streets for deals, buying what would sell for a profit back in the suburbs, my grandfather navigated with purpose but without passion.

Some of my other memories of my father's one liners: "The ends justify the means" and "Pay now or pay later" are burned into my cortex to this day. As a product of his childhood, my father's approach to life is no surprise. I know his personality so well that I can predict responses in him just as he can in me. Things get accomplished by badgering and price is the almighty indicator of a deal, more so than quality or even abstract concepts like the joy inherent in the process of whatever work is being done. My grandfather wanted his only son to be a doctor or a lawyer, and my father was lucky to discover that he was well suited to the role he found himself in. Within the NICU, my father's calculated paranoia about what could go wrong served as a constructive force which undoubtedly saved many lives over the years.

I have been told that my grandmother had as many as 12 pregnancies but only 4 children survived, my father and his 3 sisters. Perhaps some part of my father's occupation makes sense only in that context, balancing out the yin and the yang of siblings who perished because of lack of access to medical care in Palestine.

There are definite times when I struggle with my relationship with my father. Even though I love him and I support him and I want complete happiness for him, we wind up frustrated by each other from time to time. I don't want to live a life without trust and even after 37 years of observation and understanding, his trust in me has clear boundaries. I accept those boundaries, I understand them given the context of his formative years, and as he drifts closer towards wearing his grumpy-old-man buckle he has earned every ounce of his right to be whoever he wants to be and live however he wants to live.

Another line I remember vividly from my childhood, words from my father's lips, "To the victor goes the spoils". Perhaps the overall theme is apparent here, my father values success as a measure of worth, because winning, earning, producing, and providing can be objectively measured. And yet, my father is not without a softness. His dancing demonstrates that to me, when I watch him flow across the floor I see a man I never knew as a child, a facet which was buried and is now blooming. He talks about how his father never really understood exactly what he did for a living, but was overjoyed by the simple math of his annual salary and how much he would have liked to have shared a deeper understanding. Perhaps because of this, my father takes a very active role in evaluating my convoluted journey through the different positions I have held in my own career, even though he doesn't have the patience to deal with a complicated technical problem in a methodical and organized fashion which is how most of my days are spent. My father wants the best for me, and he is willing to do anything he can to push me in the right direction. He most certainly has my back.

The problems (and it's a disservice to call them problems because overall I'd say my father is my #1 ally and someone in whom I place complete trust) only appear because we are two different men, born and raised in completely different environments. Our most recent interactions have been a tad extra stressful because my father's level of trust towards me is probably a fair bit lower than the level of trust I have with my postal worker. Since I am not a father, I can't evaluate how difficult it is to trust your children, to believe that they are making good decisions and that everything will be just fine for you and them if you hand over control. But I do know that I can't live a life without trust extended beyond my family. I believe my sister is the same way, and I think growing up in Hawaii, where ohana means community more than it means family, is what may have shaped both of us to be this way, just as growing up in NY shaped my father.

The reality of life is that there are Bernie Madoffs and there are Mother Theresas and then the entire spectrum in between.

My father has been burned before. I distinctly remember a painter once doing 1/4 of the work he was supposed to do for 1/2 the money and walking away, leaving a few things behind and a bad taste in my father's mouth for picking him. I too have been burned on a number of occasions, but while I think I may have learned a little from those experiences, I don't want to change, I don't want to stop trusting people as much as I can, every chance I get.

My father has a tough time with mess and clutter. I'm just as bothered by disorder and failure to follow-through as my father is, perhaps I am bothered even more so because I have all sorts of OCD tendencies that come from my mother's dna which my father only picked up by osmosis and training over the time she was alive. I live with a roommate who raises the bar when it comes to creating mess and I consider it therapeutic for me to accept all of the dirty dishes, empty coffee cups, general filth and disarray. I also distinctly remember when my x-fiance moved out how empty and sterile the house seemed until he moved in, and I value his contribution to my quality of life as a tremendous net positive despite the challenges that come with it. My father, on the other hand, would probably be tempted to question prospective residents of his home about how clean they were willing to be rather than the content and intent of their heart. It is his right to do so. And fixing stuff that other people break or cleaning up other people's messes does get old, so I certainly understand.

A few weeks ago, while driving home late at night, I came across a motorcycle on it's side in my lane. I pulled off to the shoulder and helped another man move the bike to the guard rail and walked back to check on the rider. He was in good shape, despite having to crawl across 2 lanes of the freeway to reach a safe spot to wait for the ambulance. While a group of us sat on the guard rail and contemplated this situation, I renewed my decision to keep trying to let go of the worry I bring into my own life. This unnecessary stress creeps up when I see scratches in my wood floor or a crack in a shower tile, and yet these imperfections are what cause me to take notice in the first place, to see the beauty of the grain or the precise alignment of the grout and therefore celebrate the work that was done. I remember the demolition and construction phases, the challenges involved and the process of transformation and the beautiful impact of creating new from old. The trivialities and imperfections of the physical world really do become irrelevant in the moment when we are lying on the cold pavement, facing our own mortality, and reaching for our cell phone to make our final call. I often wonder, if that had been my motorcycle, who would I have called? What would I have said?

My father is on a cruise from Lisbon which will head south along the coast and then cross the Atlantic. He will be dancing and eating and sharing time with his girlfriend, talking and thinking, writing and reading. I am currently flying over the Pacific to his house in Manoa, making my annual pilgrimage to complete the race that started all of my fascination with running. My father and mother both signed up for the Honolulu marathon, at about the age when I spent that week with my grandmother and grandfather, the beginning stages of my own self awareness. I watched their very different approaches to the race and their performances during and recovery afterwards with fascination and envy. The marathon seemed special to me because I had a front row seat to how difficult it was for my parents and how unique the experience was for each of them. These days, my father tends to relish the attention he sometimes receives from colleagues and friends when they see his name in the newspaper as one of the top local finishers and congratulate him for the accomplishment. Perhaps this is one of the few things I can give back to him in return for his decision to create me and give me the name his father gave him. So, I keep coming back each December, to relive my childhood, to reconnect with my father, and try to feel closer to my mother's spirit.

Dad, if you read this, yes I will take care of your house and yes I will be very gentle with your blinds and yes I will shut off the water to the washer when I leave and yes I will put out the recycling on Monday morning and yes I will set the alarm when I leave and yes I will turn off all the lights. You can trust me, dad. You don't have to. But you can if you want to. I have your back too.

Strip

2011-12-05T16:49:00.001-08:00

The Rock and Roll Las Vegas half/full marathon was actually dubbed "Strip at Night" in all of the marketing literature and website. I assume that was intended as a double entendre, complete with subtle reference to the sins which seem to be so commonplace in Las Vegas. However, perhaps in a bitter twist of irony, I spent my Sunday evening wishing I had more clothes to put on rather than take off.

The weekend started mellow enough, first a meeting, then a trip to the expo with excited athletes, followed by a spirit line during which I wondered what it must be like for Karen, our hearing impaired athlete, and a dinner that was actually tasteful in both food and presentation. Saturday was done right, all by the CCFA, and with a final meeting in our hotel room we sealed off a season to remember as a team.

Sunday dawned lazily, a day where living in the moment meant waiting for the sun to set. The 5:30 pm half marathon start, to follow the 4pm full marathon start, was one of the most unique elements of the race. The closest comparable event I have participated in would be Hood to Coast, where our team typically starts at roughly the same time, and where the stomach takes precedence over the legs as far as preparation and comfort are concerned. I enjoyed watching my fantasy football team pile up some decent numbers, cementing my position at the top of the league for the first time. Towards the end of the afternoon I suited up and made my way downstairs to meet with the handful of warm souls who were about to embark on this journey, with me in a tour-guide/support/figurehead/comfort blanket role.

The first signs of trouble emerged after a smooth warmup and stretch, as we fought our way back towards gear check to drop off bags of warm clothes that would be needed post race. Swimming upstream in a crowd of 40,000 people is a difficult task even without the intense apprehension of a footrace about to begin. I grabbed as many bags as I could and together with James we delivered them to their temporary resting homes, but it took a lot longer than I had hoped it would and I wound up with only 20 minutes to spare before the race started.

As I made my way back outside, now among a dwindling crowd of laggers, I realized the cost of the time spent. I tried to run up towards the initial corrals, but wound up stuck in a human pileup somewhere outside of corral 13, far behind the athletes I wanted to see get out of the gate. I bumped into Alan and we both shook our heads at each other in disbelief of how stuck we felt, a very winnie-the-pooh type of moment. At least all the proximity of bodies served as a protection from the cold.

Somehow I lost Alan and bumped into Rachel and Monique. Together we entered a corral somewhere after 13, perhaps at 8, after the race had started and that corral was now filled with runners from corral 10 or 11. I tried my best to get the girls off at 9 minute pace, but with people in front, to the left, and to the right, predominantly slower runners, and lots of people slowing or even stopping to adjust shoes, clothing, reach for their cigarettes, etc, it became a difficult endeavor.

The full marathon course approached soon after the start, from the left hand side, and was casually coned off approximately every 20 feet with a knee-high orange cone which was almost invisible in the dark in a sea of people. From our initial position, we had mixed with the 2:50 - 3:00 marathon crew, but as time went on, at 9 minute pace, the full marathon course started to fill up a bit more. There were plenty of cyclists trying to "encourage" the others to run on the right side of the road, to leave room for the full marathoners who had already completed their first half and were now literally fighting through the second half. I've been in that position before, multiple times at Carlsbad, and I find it very frustrating myself. At the same time, due to the bottlenecks and cluster of a massive race start with undersized corrals that were inaccessible for the most part, I felt the frustration of all of the half marathoners who just wanted to be able to run. It reminded me of Ironman swim starts, only this time it was many more bodies with slightly more control and courtesy.

I left Monique and Rachel and tried out the right side of the outbound lanes, effectively running in the median of Las Vegas blvd. The different contours helped to warm up my ankles a bit, but passing on the wrong side of the water stops proved to be unnecessarily troublesome for the volunteers serving water. I wanted to jump over to the inbound lanes where the course finished up, and with my coach bib this would have been permissible, but I felt it would have been in bad spirit and that it would be setting a bad example. So, I kept on, up until the outbound runners split slightly from the inbound at which point I continued on the sidewalk, upstream, as the elite runners came through.

I saw Clemmens run past with one of the elite women, but heading out at 7 min pace against his inbound 5-something pace we had only a few seconds to make the slightest of eye contact. I slowed down, as the stream of runners thickened and I saw the 1:35 pace group sign. Soon afterwards, out of the darkness, Vince popped out and I turned around and headed back with him.

Vince wasn't trained up for a PR attempt, having taken some time off after last year's race, but he was amped to race just because that's how he is, and that's one thing I love about him. So, off we went, with me trying to push him a bit, but realizing that he wasn't quite ready to lay it all on the line. We got a number of miles together, and with perhaps 2 miles to go, we saw David Volk who tagged on and took Vince the rest of the way in. I ran back and picked up Tavish, our local rock star fundraiser, who let me tag along for a bit before he graciously told me to go find the girls and make sure they were doing ok.

After leaving Tavish and returning to my upstream swim, I picked up Bash and Kimberly. Kimberly looked strong, and Jessica was right where I had hoped she would be, but I don't know if either was in extremely high spirits. Regardless, they ran valiantly, almost smiling, until I handed them off to Volk and went back to search for Rachel who I never saw. I found Caitlyn who had to walk a bit with a busted foot but was finishing with a smile regardless. She wasn't thrilled with the race, but it was nice to share a few steps with her. After Caitlyn, I turned around and picked up Monique. Running it in with Monique took away some of the tension from the earlier runners because Monique was right on track for her predicted time, despite the cold and wind and masses of people. I think I was feeling a bit defeated with how the race had shaped up for Vince, Kimberly, Bash and Caitlyn, because I knew all of them have the ability to run a bit faster than they did on the right day, so Monique's race felt like the first really strong success of the day, the first time I felt like my contributions as a coach had some sort of plausible value.

After leaving Monique at the chute and jogging back, I bumped into Alan. I regret that I only had a short section with Alan before we hit the chute again and I had to turn back to avoid being stuck. Alan's last mile was as ferocious as any I've ever run, he put maximum effort into every step and every breath, leaving nothing in the tank. If I was somehow validated by Monique's effort, I was even more awed by Alan's as the true art of racing is about giving your best at every moment, regardless of the conditions, and especially regardless of the outcome.

I remember looking for Lindsey and Dianne but I don't think I ever saw them. I do remember seeing Greg and Matt and running with them for a bit. Greg offered me a gu and I thought, hell no, I'm not about to eat a gu, that sounds horrible :)

After Alan, I had a short break and then I picked up Karen. Karen is hearing impaired, so she reads lips. And as it turns out, 30 degrees and thousands of people all running in a straight line make it fairly difficult to communicate with someone who is hearing impaired. But she ran great, surging through the crowd on many occasions and picking it up as we neared the chute. Truely fearless, completely at home on the race course, Karen seemed the most at ease of anyone I had encountered so far. It was a real treat to share that moment with her. After Karen I picked up June and one of the others from the central team who's name I'm blanking on at the moment. June had taken some great photos next to the larger-than-life cardboard poster of her mug in the Team Challenge booth at the expo and I enjoyed her healthy vitality and appreciated the chance to share the final portion of their journey. I was starting to get cold and crabby and June actually cheered me up rather than the other way around. Sometimes we take, sometimes we give, such is the cycle of life.

At this point, I have to admit, I started to fade pretty bad. It was getting colder and colder, and then it started raining a bit. I had been out for 3 hours and the exposure was getting to me. I took some time for myself and ducked into the heated valet waiting room at the Flamingo for a minute. While I felt better inside, protected, and heated, I knew I couldn't stay. As soon as I opened the doors to leave, I was instantly re-frozen. I walked back out on the the course, hating life for a bit. I had to hop the barricade to get back on the course. Without knowing what else to do, I ventured on, upstream.

Dave Bory's picked me out of the crowd and cheered me up, letting me join him for his ride home. He picked up the pace and jogged it in strong, his first ever half marathon and the beginnings of a level of fitness that he has yet to fully comprehend. I look forward to even more changes in Dave as the once difficult becomes the everyday. Dave mentioned that Monika and the other central walkers were behind him, perhaps somewhere near 8 minutes or so.

As I made my way upstream for what wound up being the final trip, I ran more in the center of the road than before. The crowd was thinning and the pace slowing, permitting more aggressive upstream travel. I did wind up bumping into a woman who was looking behind her as I attempted to dodge, my only impact of the day, and she seemed annoyed but not physically affected by it. I did not see Monika nor any of the central walkers, which really bummed me out because I knew what an important moment this was for Monika and I knew that she was the biggest reason I was still out there, suffering in the cold. If she can do it, I can too was my mantra for that final stretch, and to not have the opportunity to see her and tell her how proud I am of her accomplishment was perhaps the most sour moment of the evening. I definitely never saw Mike, Rachel, Jessica, Dianne, Monika or Melissa. I would have liked to have spotted Sean, Sally, Brooke and Joey. I probably saw some of the others from the central team but in the darkness and without a strong memory of facial expressions and stride subtleties, I wound up not making contact.

I got to jog in with the back of the pack as the sag picked off the stragglers and the course closed down. I saw quite a few people in varying levels of pain, some fairly substantial, but also a lot of determination and joy at the approaching finish line. I have to be honest, though, I was beyond my limits by that point, having covered 25 miles, the majority of which was on an exposed, windy, and slightly rainy last 2 mile section of the race. I snuck into the TC tent, said my pleasantries, grabbed a few bagel bites, and survived the short walk across the parking lot to the door of the heated hotel entrance.

The day was not over, though, as I first had to confirm that the one bag I had dropped without a name got picked up (it did) and then we had to navigate back out into the cold parking garage to get around a bottleneck of people attempting to get into the casino. I stumbled into my room, tried to heat up with a shower, and shivered my way through the next few hours of fitful semi-sleep. I should have been at the party. I should have been at the post party. I ran less than the marathoners, in a time that would have been my slowest marathon ever. But I was trashed. Completely empty. I had nothing left to give to anyone else, I didn't even have enough for myself.

Today, I'm a bit sore, very chapped from all the cold and wind, and a little sad about the few peeps I didn't see. I really wanted to celebrate with Mike, to hug Monika, and Jessica, to see Melissa, and feel the warmth of Dianne's smile and Rachel's goofiness. In the mix of 40,000+ people all running in the dark, I just didn't get to see them and that does bum me out. And when it would have been possible to reconnect with everyone, my body wasn't strong enough to rally, although it feels good enough right now. Overall, it was a true endurance event, one which tested me in all sorts of ways. I'm such a wimp when it comes to cold weather, and I have this ridiculous tendency to forget to pack or prepare for situations even when I know what to expect. I highly underestimated the magnitude of the miles and exposure and what it would do to me, even though I knew that would be my biggest challenge. Watching coaches Dave and Sean perform flawlessly only made me feel like more of a chump for showing such signs of struggle, for letting my head take over for a bit. But I was proud of myself for sticking it out till the very last finisher, something I've never done in a race other than Ironman and then only on a couple of occasions. I had to dig pretty deep for this one and there was no lack of challenge involved in staying up for the duration. It's actually a different kind of endurance event, to give continuously over 4-5 hours as the night presses on. It reminds me of some of the thrill of ultra, and some of the dementia of relay racing, all rolled into one. I hope I get to experience it all again sometime, and perhaps I will be able to meet the next coaching challenge with all the benefits of this initial experience along with even greater effort.

Vegas

2011-11-29T17:07:00.001-08:00

Dave, Monika, Dianne

My last visit to Sin City came after my first visit to the Grand Canyon, and as a fitting contrast to the natural beauty of the big ditch.

This weekend I return to the land of concrete and sand, to experience my first race as a coach.

I have a whole slew of thoughts about the season. There are plenty of things I could have done better. However, the overall momentum of a team effort winds up dragging along anything attached to it without much concern for the little goofs along the way. We all will certainly arrive at the starting line wearing various smiles, some nervous, some excited. Everyone will give the vast majority of what they have to give. Some will amaze themselves, some will undoubtedly be disappointed. My good friend, Iso Yucra likes to say "like life, sometimes hard." I think that sums up racing in general, regardless of the distances or terrain involved.

I'm sure my mind will be working overtime leading up to the race start. I'm sure I will be more nervous than my athletes because I can't control the outcome. I'm sure they will all experience moments that I will be envious of.

I feel like the next couple of days are the part where I'm walking across the cold pool deck, waiting to jump in the water and see how things go.

Cheers to TCSD and the CCFA for giving me the opportunity to experience something I know well, from an entirely different angle.

Single Wall Construction

2011-11-22T14:40:00.001-08:00

Many of the older homes in Hawaii were constructed with only a single exterior wall, which is often referred to as single wall construction. The original purpose of single wall construction was to save on costs because most building material has to be shipped in from the mainland. Single wall construction is possible in Hawaii primarily because there is no need to insulate against the cold. Many of these single wall homes have louvered windows to throttle the cooling effect of the trade winds. Since the wood used in single wall construction is exposed to the elements, redwood or cedar are preferred for their termite and dryrot resistance. In the 1980's, the price of redwood and cedar increased, offsetting the cost advantages single wall construction once held. Since double wall construction requires slightly less skill, single wall homes became less common. An irony about single wall construction is that they have less bugs, don't need air conditioning, and are cheaper in the long run. Single wall homes typically have no fiberglass insulation and often do not have any drywall, both of which are some of the less earth friendly of all building materials.

Where am I going with this? Off on a tangent of course.

I'd like to think we as humans have the option to build our exterior with single or double construction. It's easier and far more common to go double-wall, first framing our boundaries, then attaching osb, a moisture barrier, and an exterior siding. At that point we go about our business of insulating, drywalling, taping, painting, and installing floors and baseboard. When we are done, we feel strong and protected, and we can open our front door to any of our friends who ring the doorbell or text us that they are stopping by to visit.

By contrast, the single wall human takes a bit more thought and work. Any gaps will be very noticeable, so the joints between boards and all of the angles which are exposed should maintain tight tolerances. Electrical wires have to be concealed behind casing, and plumbing routed entirely under the floor. A lot less material is used, but more time and care must go into the process of building, a process of delayed gratification.

As a child, I never appreciated single wall construction. I thumbed my nose at any homes that looked so "cheap". I erroneously assumed that drywall was "right". I did not fully appreciate the simple beauty that was all around me, single wall homes just seemed like a construction project waiting for funding.

But I do remember how it felt to be inside one of those homes. How connected to the island you feel when the tradewinds sing through, and how much you hear through the openness of the walls. In many ways, this feeling, the single wall feeling, describes what I feel in yoga, of connecting myself to the outside, while remaining indoors.

The privileges of a childhood in paradise are numerous because of all the uniqueness which simply cannot survive elsewhere. Unique species, unique construction methods, unique family units, and unique and breathtaking views of natural wonder. And yet, while the specifics of Hawaii's uniqueness cannot be directly experienced on the mainland, the conceptual approach to openness and connection is an option for everyone no matter where they are. We can always extend ourselves to others in various ways without giving up much of anything from ourselves. We can always get by with less, less stuff, less food, less time, less praise. We can always feel more connected to the world, by removing barriers between ourselves and that which we seek to be closer to.

One of my favorite memories of home, of being in a place I will always call home, is running past a single wall house, as the afternoon showers rinse my skin, and feeling an intense connection to the life flowing all around me.

Nest

2011-11-12T21:14:00.001-08:00

Kim, Vince, Sally, Jessica, Me, Wendy, Sean, June, Jenna

I lead my 2nd "real" yoga class today, at The Nest. Before I break it down, I gotta unload my thank you's:

Sean and Vince, two young men who I can count on to come through, show up, and sweat it out. Both of you are tough as nails and yet willing to experience "girly" yoga with me, it says a lot about your character and open mindedness. A lot of dudes would have a tough time doing that. Thank you for cranking out the heat.

Wendy, June and Sally, the three additions since the first class. You made this class special for me by your willingness to experience something new for yourself. All 3 of you are off my periphery since most of your workouts are done with the central team, and yet you were able to trust me off the few interactions we've had. That says a lot about your character. Especially June, your courage to explore your limits and trust that we would take care of you meant a ton to me. Thank you all, you are three very classy ladies.

Jessica and Kimberly, my two yoga rock stars. You both really knocked it out of the park today and I'm so stoked for you and for being able to share those two classes with you. I really hope you both find some joy on the mat the way I have, I'm quite certain you will be shredding it up if you decide to dabble a bit more.

Caitlin, wow, what can I say? You made this space, _and_ you let me invite myself in to come and teach. You trusted me and your generosity has allowed me to sharpen my skills. Your dream, realized just a few months ago, now allows me to explore my own dreams. You support me with all of the compassion and understanding I could ask for, a willingness to serve and a patience for me to make my own mistakes as I walk down a path you traveled long ago. Every moment with you leaves me more and more impressed. Oh, and thanks for all your help with the music (more on that later.)

Jenna, you've become a such a wonderful, dear friend to me. You've been there for me every single time I asked and you always make me smile. You pulled off some awesome demos, you worked endlessly to spread the love around, and you never once corrected me or made me feel like the rookie that I am. Acceptance comes so naturally to you, it's a gift. I've watched your own teaching skills sharpen, I've watched you grow and live and learn and explore as we've both become such great friends. Some strange stoke of luck brought us together, and I think we've both built each other up ever since we met. Being friends with you is effortless and always feels special because your inner light is warm and bright. Thank you for being there to support me through this, for accepting all of my insanity and even embracing it.

OK, enough blowing sunshine around, right? Let's get down to business.

First, the music. I botched the tunes again, 0-2 on that. This time I spent a lot of time lining up the songs based on the timeline and by some idiotic move I left my ipad in shuffle mode. I was scratching my head half the time as the songs came up out of order, but Caitlin helped out a lot by adjusting the volume. And since most of the songs in the playlist are pretty mellow, it worked out OK. I hand-picked the song for core at the right time, so that worked out OK. But it threw me off b/c I didn't realize until about 2/3 of the way through, when I turned off shuffle. Rookie goof. Oh well. I'm pretty sure I didn't get one or two of the songs on the playlist in, and I think I repeated 2 or 3. I even set up an extra song for a long intro and used it because half of the peeps showed up 10 minutes early. Oh well, I'll keep learning and focusing on this stuff, it's easy enough to get the music right.

My greetings this time weren't as awesome as last time. I need to keep the effort up with that. I have a tendency to get too comfortable with people I know and skip formalities. That's a total growth area.

The rest of this is going to be a bit difficult to follow for anyone who doesn't know the Core Power C1 sequence, but I'm going to write it for a reader who knows it well because this whole post is intended to serve as a learning experience for me with my peers and instructors.

I felt like I did OK with integration series. I tried to spend the right amount of time in balasana, and I stumbled over my words a little less than before. I did a demo with Jenna in table top to try to set the stage for tucking the tailbone later on and I think that was fairly successful even though I burned some extra time there. My cues for downward dog weren't awesome, but I felt like I lead through a decent samasthiti and kept it rolling through Surya Namaskara A and the chaturanga demo. Using Jenna for the demo was a great crutch, I felt it was definitely worth taking advantage of since she was there so that I could focus on the words and she could be the body. I'm curious what Caitlin thinks of how it came off. I got the impression from at least one of the students that there was more of an understanding from the two early demos in table top and chaturanga than my first class where I demo'd everything myself. I know this isn't something I can count on as an instructor, but I also think when you have the tool in the box, you might as well use it instead of doing things the hard way.

I spent a bit of time on tadasana too. Perhaps I spent too much time talking about "I" and "me" during these demos but I really wanted to explain why I was spending the time focusing on what must seem like minutia to beginners, why I found that stuff important. I wonder how it came off. Maybe I am too OCD on that stuff, maybe I should just let it be, maybe I took the focus off the students by relating to personal experience and preference. My intention was to really crank on alignment in the early stuff and then let the rest unravel.

Surya Namaskara B went pretty well. I tried to demo/assist with Jenna for warrior 2 and maybe spent a bit too much time but I felt this set up things reasonably well for some good lunges later on. Everyone was oriented facing center which made for some good vision to the demo space, and I think I milked it since I had Caitlin to adjust alignment while I demo'd on Jenna. It was really fun, I think this is where I really started to relax and enjoy the experience. The first class was just giving, pouring myself out and feeling empty at the end. This 2nd class was different, I felt like I was filling myself while I filled up the room. Sun B was where it started flowing. I probably pushed the pace a bit too much for the 2nd and 3rd rounds of Sun B, but I tried to explain why I was doing that. I was a little surprised at how tentative everyone took their SUN B chaturanga's, but I also wanted to give them space to practice how they wanted to, so I cued an extra inhale/shift forward on almost all of them. It seemed to work OK. I think we were maybe 5 minutes behind schedule after Sun B, going off total guesses.

Core went OK. I think a bit better than last time. I could really see and feel the effort at this point, the room was engaged and that got me excited. Navasana seemed really strong to me. I can't take full credit for this, I think having the 4 repeat customers helped because they knew it was only 3 minutes and it is safe to push hard for those full 3 minutes.

Crescent lunge was another walkthrough on Jenna and I think all the visual reinforcement helped the others. I would imagine Caitlin and Meg when they dual teach get a lot of good information across, since they are both so experienced. A demo on a girl body is just way better than a demo on an inflexible boy body. I was happy enough with my cues through cresecent lunge series, though I think my revolved crescent cues could improve a bit. I forget if I suggested a modification in revolved crescent, but I remember adding it in for both vasistasanas and also for runner's lunge. I felt like I gave enough space in runner's lunge for some quiet time. I think Caitlin might have turned down the music a bit for each of those moments.

Prayer twist and gorilla seemed to flow OK, though I may have been stumbling a bit here, I just remember being fully engaged in the moment. Bakasana demo was unrehearsed, and my intention was to offer lolasana instead. I'm not sure Jenna knew what I meant by lolasana, I sort of expected her to have infinite experience with it, but it's not part of any sequence that I know of, and I'm not sure she spends as much time messing around with arm balances like I do with Shane. It seemed klunky as I tried to cue something I've never cued before, purely off memory and reading one article the day before. So I sort of gave up on that and talked through a bakasana demo. I forget if I offerred a baksasana prep demo/explanation. This part just got slopppy, and ironically I pulled off a much beter version in teacher training a few hours later, demo'ing with my own body and skipping lolasana. I do think crow makes zero sense in the C1 and that lolasana would be a better choice because 2 or 3 sets would be something just about anyone can do by leveraging weight in their toes and it would build strength for future arm balances. But I also think I'm not nearly a good enough teacher to pull off a swap like this without some thought and preparation.

I'm blank on the 2nd balasana, I know I hit it well in teacher training afterwards, but I forget if I gave out any love out at the nest. However, the next part was the biggest surprise of the day. I suck at balancing in my own practice, and I don't think I'm a very good instructor for the balancing series, but I swear there was just a moment during vrksasana that felt electric. Even natarajasana felt steady. Perhaps I've improved a bit? Garudasana went OK, the whole series was better than I expected. I think I have a hangup on this series because I typically fall out a few times, so it was a big confidence boost to rock it out and it really set a special tone that lasted the rest of class.

Triangle series was the one I had gone way too fast through the Monday prior. I had a huge intention to slow down and let that series soak in, particularly vera bhadrasana I. I'm not one to congratulate myself very often, but I felt like I hit the mark with my timing for triangle series and that meant a lot to me. To observe a deficiency or tendency and then be able to correct it is exactly what learning from experience is about. It gives me hope. Timing and tempo is so critical to the student's experience, you want a full chance for deep expression, and that may involve some quivering or shaking, but you don't want to leave anyone hung out to dry. It can be a fine line. My cues may not have been perfect, but I was just very happy with my tempo. I did leave out reverse warrior after prasarita paddotanasana though, that's something to try to remember to add in, but I don't think anyone minded, there was a look of fatigue at that point.

Half pidgeon went really well, not necessarily the cues, but the mood and bringing down the intensity. I felt like I heard my own voice softening at just the right time, and I felt like I gave adequate space here. I was tempted to talk more, to introduce more of a theme, but silence just felt right this time. In retrospect, the class ended up fairly themeless, but somehow silence and rain seemed enough. It seemed like a chord was struck without using so many words, so I just let it be. In the future, I'd really prefer to have a solid theme to interweave, but today it was OK to just let it be a little open ended.

Bujangasana and Daunurasana were acceptable, not awesome, but probably better than last time. Camel was a little better since I didn't second guess myself and consider leaving it out. Then seated forward fold before bridge which is something that doesn't feel perfect. We've talked about this a bit, and it's something to continue thinking about. If pachimotanasana follows ustrasana and leads into septu bandha sarvangasana then it should be a hamstring stretch, not a lower back stretch, otherwise there is just too much backward bending and forward bending without a chance to neutralize the spine. But if you do bridge before seated foward fold, then you're coming down to the mat and then back up. Neither feels right to me yet, but I think camel to forward fold to lying down to bridge seems like the best option. Anyway, bridge was OK, better than before, fairly decent actually.

My happy baby could use a little work, and supine spinal twist wasn't perfect, but not horrible. Savasana somehow felt so serene that I just didn't want to talk, I wanted to give space. I felt like it was about the right amount of time in savasana before I started bringing them back, but it might have been a bit short. I ran about 10 minutes over in total, which is probably a pretty normal C1 if I had thrown out camel and bridge and all the extra demo's. Of course I'd still like to dial it in to an exact 60 minutes, but I think with less demos I'd be closer.

Areas for improvement:

1. Breathe with the class more. Add in more quiet time. I think I've made good progress here but I still have a ways to go.

2. Better cues for surrender series. This is the newest and hence my weakest, but I'm happy with my progress.

3. Better greeting and intro. Always have a theme, a solid, clear, crystalline theme, and drive it home. I was losey goosey with that this time, after overdoing it last time. Find the middle ground, short and sweet, have a quote or two ready, and sew it throughout the class.

4. Music. It needs to be spot on. There's no excuse for that, especially for a tech minded guy like me.

5. More adjustments. I only did a few hands-on adjustments. I'd like to challenge myself more with that. I'm comfortable touching people, I just need to get out of my own head long enough to remember to jump in. Having the two ladies was a crutch that I relied on. I need to work towards being more self sufficient.

That's about all I can think of for now. I feel a lot better about how this class went. We'll see how the eval goes from Jenna and Caitlin as I consider if I'm going to keep trying to teach classes...

Pueohala

2011-11-10T16:58:00.001-08:00

I still have this t-shirt, though I haven't worn it in years.

My life has been shaped so much by my early years. The street I grew up on, Pueohala Place, was originally owned entirely by a single family, the Mortensens, and their approach to living has greatly influenced my own. The original house, which at one point was the only house on the street, is still there. It was built closer to the beach and then at some point in time before I was born it was moved mauka (towards the mountains) and two new homes were built makai (towards the ocean). Eventually, the street was split up and 5 more single family homes were built behind the front 3, one of which my father impulsively selected because it allowed a view from the kitchen into the family room so my mother could cook while keeping an eye on us.

The Mortensen family became a part of our existence, Dolly, David, and their three children, Dayna, Katie and Kavika. Their door was never locked. I could borrow a surfboard any time. I played basketball in their driveway whenever I felt like it. I could always count on David to have a smile and a joke for me, to loan out a tool, to teach me how to use it, or to just take the stress of life away with his gigantic heart. Hawaii is the land of lingering and when you have Hawaiian blood and a familiy history rooted in the islands, you have a responsibility to give your time away to anyone who wants it, regardless of where you are or what you are doing. The street that feeds into Pueohala Place, named North Kalaheo, used to back up with 3-5 cars every now and then because the driver had stopped in the middle of the lane to talk to a friend or relative walking on the side of the street. Nobody honks in that situation. You just wait it out and let the conversation finish.

Life lessons don't always sink in so well at that age. In retrospect, I don't think I realized what an example that was for me. The Mortensens had no riches, no "things" of substantial value, but they were rich in life and love. They sold the land they once owned, and kept only 2 of the 8 houses for themselves, keeping only what they really needed. They befriended everyone on the street, even us haoles from the mainland, and treated all of the kids the same, with even handed, overflowing acceptance even though we all did our share of idiotic things.

Life was fairly simple for those early years. I went to school, that was my job, and until 6th or 7th grade it really wasn't that terrifying. Public school in particular wasn't particuarly challenging, Hawaii ranks 50th in the nation in public schools, so up until 4th grade when I switched to a private school my efforts and intensity revolved around weekends spent on the tennis court. My entire world was a 5x1 kilometer rectangle from Oneawa to the beach, between Kuulei and Kainui. It has taken me years to realize exactly how privileged that childhood really was. Not privileged in the sense of extravagent wealth, but privileges in the sense of extravagent freedom. It seemed so normal at the time, kind of like how when you're standing on a peak and looking at an incredible view, you don't realize how expansive your perspective is compared to those in the valley below. You can only see from one place at a time, just as you can only grow up once.

Samadhi, at least my current concept of it, warped in my western-rooted mind, seems very much like how I remember my early years. A 2 minute walk took me to one of the most beautiful beaches in the state if not the world, safe, clean, uncrowded, with warm water and just-right waves for a kid to play around in, get tossed upside down, but not worry too much about drowning. My childhood started off with pure sentiment, feeling instead of thinking, before there was any need to understand or analyze. I felt spiritual moments out in that water, long before we took a pair of canoes out to spread my mother's ashes in the very same water. I would sometimes fall asleep in my bed at night as a kid and instantly return to the feeling of floating and rocking on my board, just past the break. The exhaustion from 3 or 4 hours of paddling around, catching waves, running, jumping, and just being must have left left a permanent imprint on my consciousness. Life spent at the beach, at the neighbor's, riding bikes up/down the street, climbing in the ironwood trees, digging up insects, and exploring outside was pure freedom. There were no bills. There were no deadlines. I was never too cold or too hot.

Inevitably, life gets more complicated as we grow up. We accumulate items and scars, we form complex relationships with all sorts of people. My sister is now seeing that for the first time in her own children, how the endless joy of naieve optimism gives way to more complicated, more calculated thoughts as a child reaches past diapers, through the challenges of walking and talking, and begins to take the first steps on the flight of self awareness.

I think one of the reasons I've allowed myself to be open to new challenges is based on knowing that my happy place is still there. Kailua hasn't changed much at all, every time I go back I confirm that. I think I've always assumed that if my life turned into a complete failure, if I lost all that I valued, if I had no friends and nothing left to care about, all I needed was a one way ticket home and the willingness to work enough to pay for food and shelter and my life would be just perfect. Ironically, I honestly believe I would prpobably be happier if I did that today, but I won't allow myself to take the easy way, to give up on myself just yet. I love my life so much here, I love what I've created and what I've stumbled into. I love my friends, I love my dog. I love my neighbors who are the modern, San Diego version of the Mortensens.

So, for now, I keep stacking weight on myself, unsure if I can or will be able to shoulder the burden indefinitely, but aware that if I break, if I fall apart completely, I've always known exactly where to go. If that breaking point arrives, I know that happiness will be waiting for me on the other end. That belief alone carries me through so many of the challenges I seek. That belief allows me to reach past my own doubts and insecurities and attempt to cultivate proficiency. I know that I'll be able to retreat into the comfort of a known world if I fail, and that allows me to attempt to improve without worrying so much about the final outcome.

Acknowledgment

2011-11-03T11:58:00.001-07:00

There are 3 things to acknowledge today, realizations from last night and this morning.

I'll start with last night. I've heard this before, actually I've heard it many times. When someone presents an idea, an opinion, or a statement to me, I often respond with an exception or by pointing out one way in which that idea does not make sense to me. This comes off as me sounding like the perpetual devil's advocate, or debbie downer, or just plain negative nancy. I notice that I do this, even if I accept 90% of the concept as dead-on. This is a clear weakness in my communication skills. My lack of acknowledgment is easily interpreted as a rejection of what was presented, even if I wholeheartedly agree with the sentiment. It's like my brain takes a shortcut, skipping the "omg, you are so right" and goes straight to the "but what about this one little part that doesn't seem to fit"?

While I work to correct this imbalance in my communication, I think it's worthwhile to at least explain why this happens. I'm not making excuses for myself, but I do see this approach as a key ingredient to success in the workplace, particularly amongst software developers. I've hired a few, interviewed a lot, and I've seen all sorts of teams and styles in my 14 years of work. The most valued colleagues I have worked with are those who can quickly point out the problems with anyone's proposed approach, without worrying about how that information is received. When everyone toes the line and follows the leader, that leader's oversights can become catastrophic. Without checks and balances, code reviews, and daily challenges to the design, product quality suffers. When everyone on the team can (hopefully respectfully) call into question the details of the suggested implementation and point out specific situations where additional design is necessary, the project as a whole stands a much greater chance of success.

The real challenge for me is to not lose this professional skill, while simultaneously working to acknowledge and appreciate input in my personal life. And I can _always_ word things better, even in the professional world. This challenge will not be easy for me, it will take months and more likely years to make progress.

On that same line of thinking, this morning was one of those days on the mat that we hope for every day. Shane decided we should focus on arm balances, and while I reached tricep fatigue well before the 60 min mark, I was thrilled to pull off some poses that I previously had not been able to, and to do others with slightly more confidence and control. Specifically, my core strength improvements have built to the point that I am reaching a basic competence with headstand and that allows me to do more with it than just trying to stay up for 20 breaths. It's a real thrill to unlock those doors and be able to walk down new hallways in my practice, and while today had no gigantic landmarks like pulling off an actual unsupported handstand, I really felt a marker had ticked by on my progression. I'd like to acknowledge Shane for all of his hard work in getting me to this point, he laid out a plan, tricked me into following it, and now he has proven to me how true his initial words really were. It all reinforces my core belief that 2 people, working together, is tremendously more powerful than 1 + 1.

Now, lest anyone view this as overly congratulatory, I want to point out how humbling it actually is. Today was the first time I learned what bakasana should actually feel like. It is tremendously more difficult to press your knees up to your armpits than it is to dig them into your triceps and use your skin or the grip of a towel to keep them from slipping down. That last bit of compression from the core and the hip flexors is intense and excruciating, just as pressing my elbows together in dolphin or many of my side arm balances which involve twisting, flexibility, balance, and strength. Another angle on this is doing headstand prep where you keep your toes on the mat behind you but lift your head 1/4" out of your hands and focus on arm strength. That is actually much more challenging for me than headstand, and far less gratifying, but the gains from doing it for just a few weeks are noticeable. Full expression is an evolution, a series of passageways that lead to a maze of neverending self exploration. My bakasana had gotten a bit stagnant over the past month or two and now it is time to keep pushing it foward because the effort invested will give me the foundation for all sorts of new things down the road.

My note to my runners this week was about acknowledging themselves for how far they have come this season, because it is so easy to lose sight of progress when you are in the midst of the heavy preparation that must be done one month before race day. I find it especially ironic that I'm preaching self acknowledgment when I struggle with this concept for myself. Like any overweight, out-of-shape NFL coach knows, you don't have to be able to do something in order to tell someone else how to do it. For some reason, I find it very easy to acknowledge others for their efforts to improve themselves. I find that I am naturally able to motivate and inspire, and I think this is true because I am so motivated and inspired myself, by those who I have been fortunate enough to share time and space with. This natural energy from others simply reflects and refracts through me and is redirected out to anyone in my vicinity. I remember my high school water polo coach, recognizing my complete lack of talent but overflowing enthusiasm, sending me into the championship game to try to get things really amped up. I'm sure he must have been wincing and crossing his fingers and hoping that I didn't get anywhere near the ball, but I appreciated his faith in me for what I could provide.

I'm going to end with a question that came up last night. Is "work" a basic need? I'm sure the weight of that question rests on how you define work. If you take work as a strict "something you get paid to do" then I'd imagine some people might say that no, work is not a basic need, as long as you have your other needs met, you don't need work to survive and feel grounded/stable/safe/secure. However, if you define work as your purpose, dharma, calling, passion, whatever, and therefore include volunteering, caring for the sick or old, raising children (which is most definitely work in my book) or the host of various other efforts that do not directly correspond to wages, then I think it becomes much easier to say that work is a basic need. Dogs, particularly labradors, want to have work to feel happy, they need a purpose, and I sense that Hunter would love to do more if his body would allow him to. I certainly feel an insatiable drive to do something meaningful with my time, though most of my real passions are not particularly lucrative, they tend to be more cashflow-negative types. Feel free to chime in if anyone has any thoughts on this. I know that having an entire year off from the structure of the corporate workplace gave me a real appreciation for how great life can be without "work" (as a strict definition.) And I'm sure that is what is hiding behind some of my questions about if work is a basic need or not.

So, to summarize, acknowledgement of ideas, acknowledgement of my progress, and acknowledgement of others, that is my focus for today.

Grace

2011-11-01T23:18:00.000-07:00

How do we find grace in our lives?

When we move from one pose to the next, from one thought to another, how do we connect with our own inner grace, the ease of effortlessnes, peacefullness and seamlessness?

The elusive thing about grace is that it's so obvious to observe, but so difficult to manufacture. It must come from the heart and it must flow out through our bodies, in words and deeds. To find grace, we must be at peace, but who allows themselves a moment's peace in today's world? Not many of us. I know I struggle with this. There are so many opportunities to be distracted, to get upset, to throw our composure out the window.

How will I manifest grace today?

An opportunity will undoubtedly present itself. And it won't have a sign on it that says "this is your test today, try not to fail." It will be one of those situations which only seems clear in retrospect, a moment that only becomes clear once it becomes a memory.

How can I find words of grace to share with others?

This is obviously the near term focus for me, but it's a great goal for all of us. Grace in our expression, to inspire others and by doing so, inspire ourselves.

How often do we forget to be graceful?

To our loved ones and children. To our co-workers and bosses. To other drivers. To those who make us wait.

Grace starts with a single word, a single motion. The difference between a weightless step onto the ball of our foot and the klunky maneuver I more frequently use. Why not try to tread softly? It's hard for me, but I think about it a lot.

There exists tremendous power in grace, and yet grace is humble. Kind of like Gandhi without the glasses and wrinkly skin.

Grace is not earned, it is simply expressed.

Be unreasonably graceful today.

Grattitude

2011-10-30T05:53:00.000-07:00

I woke up at 3:00 this morning, despite going out last night, my mind racing with thoughts from yesterday. Actual tears were rolling out of my eyes, not sad tears, more like basic punctuation bookending the recent emotions, ones I don't fully understand nor did I have any idea I would necessarily experience. On the surface, yesterday was about as plain jane as any day in my recent life, perhaps excessively plain. But the undercurrent prompts me to digest and purge what I can, a cathartic attempt to hit reset so I can proceed.

A bit of background first. Sandy beach on Oahu is a bodysurfer's dream, the steep sand bar and steady swells combine to produce hollow barrels which usually pack a heavy punch. Water sucks back, energy builds, the crest peaks and then surges up and over, crashing down into a water and sand mixture that is maybe 1-2 feet deep. Reliving my youth in retrospect, bodysurfing Sandy Beach shorebreak is very much like my own experiences with chaturanga. There is a repeated rising and falling, a known dance with the self, accompanied by a parallel dance with the higher Self. Each individual wave, each chaturanga, is semi-satisfying but often indistinguishable from the next. And yet, the net sum of a session spent in the water or on the mat yields a singular whole, a unique point in time, an experience which becomes a memory.

I'll come back to Sandy Beach later.

Two emails received this week are worth reprinting, partly because of how they affected me, but more so as an explanation of what I need to work on.

"I just wanted to let you know how much I am enjoying Team Challenge. I appreciate the time that you take (Dave) to plan our workouts! I have never done anything like this in my life and I am truly enjoying it. These past few weeks I have seen myself accomplish things that I never thought were possible for a girl with Crohn's Disease. Thanks so much, & you will probably see me around next year. I'm loving it and we haven't even made it to Vegas yet...I can't wait!"

and

"Thank you again today Dave, and I mean that personally- not with my CCFA hat on. Really cool to be a party of your first class taught, perfect opportunity for you to hone your craft on some open-minded friends and amateurs. Very cool experience relative to my past yoga sessions, everything from the setting to the music was a great fit.

You gotta let me know if you start teaching on a regular or even intermittent basis- I'd definitely come to your class again, the passion you have for it is contagious."

It's pretty amazing to observe the effect words can have on the human heart. Word selection, tone, delivery, context, and especially intent all combine to exert a force, much like that wave at Sandy Beach, that affects me. It's often easy to brush aside these emotions, just as it's easy to ride wave after wave and not pay attention to the last one or the next one. And it's just as easy to overlook the risk that words and waves have, until something disastrous happens, a friendship disintegrates, or a physical injury is sustained in the water. My parents always used to stress out about Sandy's being the spinal cord readjustment center of the US. And certainly my own experience with words and particularly their negative effects has taught me all sorts of lessons. Words can be intense. The words above affected me greatly, primarily because they were unsolicited but also because of how succinct they are. And while they say more about the sender than the recipient, their net effect on me is substantially more than I expected.

So how does this all relate to what I need to work on? If I set the stage right, you might be confused, you might not follow my train of thought yet. And that is precisely what I am good at, presenting a confusing, overwhelming, lengthy description of my convoluted thoughts which takes a lot of mental energy to decipher. I think my mom realized this when I was 10 as I tried to explain to her how to repaginate a document in Word Perfect (remember those pre-Word days of "word processing"?) I have never been a good teacher, in fact, I've been told many times exactly how lousy I am at it. I'm a doer. I take action. I push the limits. I ride the edge. I was not born with the ability to tell anyone "how".

My sister has tremendous innate leadership and the ability to connect to individuals from all walks of life. I am different. I think we got opposite pairs of genes from our parents. My sister actually ran a small yoga business out of her home a few years ago, before marriage and children. My sister can nonchalantly shred on the mat, yoga is a perfectly comfortable home for her, an effortless extension of her Self. While my sister was doing all of this, I was a quintessential tri-dork, with dreams of Kona which, once fulfilled, gave way to dreams of fast marathons, which broke away and funneled me into dreams of ultra which may not be completely dead yet, and eventually landed me on my yoga mat. There exists quite a bit of comfort for me in athletic pursuits, I know how to push myself, I know how to not quit, it is the world of the known, the oddly comfortable.

Rewind, and take a slight detour...

Watching my father's progression and obsession with ballroom dancing has been a real life lesson for me. I did not understand it at first, but it makes tremendous sense to me now. At retirement, some people long for complacency, a routine schedule, an easieness. But for many of us, when we stop growing, we start to die. The Easa genes do not allow sitting still, for better or for worse. We are workhorses, from my grandfather selling goods door to door out of his suitcase to my father's sacrifices in neonatology, to my sister's ruthless schedule of childcare activities. When we go, we go all out. It would be unnatural for any of us to stop placing hurdles in our path just to see if we can jump over them. Despite no background, despite a surgically repaired knee, despite a complete lack of need, my father chose to pursue and excel at dancing. And now he has absorbed it, now he is pretty freaking good at it. The work shows. His reinvented Self is as shiny and brilliant as the Dr in Dr. Easa ever was, and probably at this point substantially more impressive than any of his accomplishments on the tennis court.

So, now it's time for me to get on point.

And yet, we've already arrived. This entire post _is_ already the point. If I were to ask any of my 3 regular readers of this irrelevant blog what I need to work on, the answer would be unanimous and immediate. Let's not even sugar coat it today, I did enough of that with those two quotes above.

Simplify.

That's it, exactly it, I don't even need to type the word "nutshell". That is my feedback from yesterday's first yoga class. That is my feedback from my own self analysis of my life. That is my challenge, what I want to improve upon, my personal growth opportunity. It is not my area of expertise, and yet I covet so dearly those who can express themselves in simple words that have great impact, just as my father covets the effortlessness of his dance instructor's grace. I'm petrified of this. I have no idea "how" to get there.

Take a look at what I've just done. I've taken a clear and obvious statement of fact, one that just about anyone who knows me realizes intuitively, and anyone who meets me can figure out in 5 minutes, and then I turned something obvious into a multi-page, barf-o-rama of a post. It's so easy for me to make unnecessary additions, so hard for me to subtract. The restless earnestness comes out of me just like the waves rise at Sandy Beach, with ferocity and often overwhelming volume.

My communication skills are the precise opposite of a bumper sticker.

OK, so, enough rambling about me, let me break down that class that affected me so much yesterday. Who knew I'd be drained to empty after 60 minutes of practice teaching. I certainly didn't. In an attempt to be more concise, this section will be in outline form.

I got flustered before class even started, I didn't have control of the space, I didn't have control of my head, I was semi-frantic setting up, and I didn't take enough time to plan out all of the details so there was some last minute improv. And yet, I feel like I did OK with greeting my students and thanking the creators of the space, Caitlin and Meg. This part boils down to priorities, sometimes we don't do enough homework, but if we remember the most important part, the people involved, the rest just works itself out. I suspect continued attempts will yield more comfort with this part, just as my comfort at masters swimming grew slowly over repeated visits.
My integration series was decent but not as smooth as I would have liked. I need strong cues for cat/cow if I attempt that again, and especially downward dog. It's so easy for me to ignore the fundamental building blocks, and yet that is precisely the essence of the asanas, the part of teacher training that is the most important and necessary for me to learn.
I have no real idea how my theme was received. I'm counting on feedback I haven't heard yet to judge the authenticity angle. Beginner students have a hard time distinguishing real from bs. But I think the 2nd note above hints that I may have rang the bell loud enough to hear. This piece is the source of my apprehension today, the impetus for my morning tears. I want so desperately for those around me to see my heart as it sits in my chest, not some morphed, skewed, slanted picture of someone I am not, someone I might perhaps unintentionally purport to be. My best friend in college recognized this and often called me "misunderstood guy". I'd like to get past that, I'd like to do my part to be understood.
Once we got rolling, especially through the sun salutations, I felt like I hit stride. But yet, with a class of 6 beginners, the weakness of my cues showed most glaringly at the beginning, before the patterns of feet and hand placement are established. Guidance is essential _before_ the chaturangas become second nature. This is the part where I need to hold the class in my hand instead of worrying so much about energizing them since the later seems to be much easier than the former.
Core series was flat. My playlist was built around my expectations that I would already be behind on time at this point, when in actuality I think I kept on track with the timeline. I had to skip forward with the music to accomodate. I'll need to adjust that in the future. I want to come up with a plan to raise the roof on the intensity with this part. Core, particularly navasana, is where I love to crush myself the most in my own practice. I did not take into consideration that others are much more reasonable with their own self motivation. This section is the land where bumper sticker reigns supreme, there is no time for introspection when your abs are burning.
Crescent series is an obvious one to mention modifications and yet I did not notice or even offer that option until far too late. I was too busy trying to spit out every cue I could remember, trying to solve every problem, rotate every hip, fix every leak. Teaching is about dancing in the rain, not putting on a rainsuit, galoshes, and grabbing an umbrella. The positive here is that I didn't leave anything out, and I think I might have thrown in an unnecessary utkatasana or chaturanga. Just making it through this section of the sequence feels like an accomplishment, crow marks the halfway point in the series and confidence builds when everyone is on the home stretch.
Balancing series sucked bad. I think it's funny because this is where I struggle the most in my own practice. I have no balance. Literally and figuratively. And it's not surprising that I can't teach balance since I am so weak in practicing it and living it. Massive growth opportunities here.
I hit the wall in triangle series. There is so much challenge for me personally in Warrior I that I just got lost. I stumbled all over my tongue through prasarita padottanasana, which might be where I push the hardest in my recent classes, where I've noticed some of the biggest recent gains, where I have loads of focus. It came out unraveled, possibly because balancing series was so shaky, possibly because I am too much in my own head about how incredibly challenging warrior I is and I didn't pay enough attention to the students here.
I took a break in hip openers. I needed it, and I think it helped. In retrospect, I could have introduced my story at that point (such a good suggestion.) If I had been adequately aware, if I had indeed started my story time here, I might be impressed with myself. Or if I had paused more in the first 35 minutes I might have felt more comfortable with the silence in half pigeon. Instead I sort of checked out.
Spine strengtheners brought me back to life, I always feel energized by cobra in my own practice, and I think I re-engaged here. I need to nail down a sequence though. This is one area where the different instructors vary tremendously, many throw out camel and bridge, and I think I'm realizing that I'm not going to be content with opting out. I actually looked at my watch, decided to skip them, then wound up putting them back in at the end. I never win when I bet against myself. I might as well accept that I can keep up and plan out the rotation out and stick to it. I did too many transitions here, from seated to savasana, back and forth, it made no sense and I lost all confidence with my cues. I'm not sure the students noticed or cared, The sweat levels seemed to indicate saturation point had been reached.
I wanted so badly for savasana to be awesome. And yet, the funny thing about that is that this week I skipped 3 or 4 of my own savasanas. My savasana story, like this post, was way too long. My voice was ok, but I stumbled in a few spots, I should have had a better script. I suspect this is an area I will grow into naturally. I had to be reminded to go to the front of the class to close, and whatever I said just before my final namaste was incomprensible gibberish.

After class I felt completely drained, empty, used up. I've often wondered what the experience is like for those who teach 2 or 3 classes back to back. Obviously it's not quite as physically challenging to teach as it is to practice. I've never done 2 hot classes sequentially, but I've done a fair number of double days now and I might even consider taking 3 classes in a day sometime, it's a challenge, but not a ridiculous one. I think I wondered more about how the instructors are able to keep the sequence straight, particularly when teaching two different flows back to back. In the past I've noticed the stumbling points more than I've appreciated the seamless successes.

I think that is probably the best takeaway from this 2 month indulgence in yoga teacher training. I have a newfound appreciation for the art of a great teacher, and this appreciation applies to much more than just words spoked from the mat. I am guilty of not understanding nor adequately appreciating the beauty of proper instruction. Yes, I've always been able to recognize quality. I've always known how to cleave apart good, awesome, and incredible. But without spending time understanding the inputs to the process of guidance, a complete appreciation of the word "how" just isn't possible.

I'll end this with my own gratitude. I am so very grateful for those in my life who have supported and encouraged me, with everything I've pursued. Most of what I've done has no real purpose, is completely unnecessary, and doesn't really matter to anyone else. And yet, I've found people to rally on my behalf for all of it and they have made the entire experience rich and rewarding.

Collision

2011-10-25T11:43:00.001-07:00

I don't know how to explain last night, but I don't know how to let it pass without an attempt to describe what happened and how I felt. It was unusual. It was a lot like the morning of August 1st, 2010, which for various reasons is one of the lowest points of my recent memory. It was a strange juxtaposition, entirely foreseeable, yet ultimately far more severe and intense than I was actually prepared for. I haven't slept well the last two nights. I feel like my scabs have been ripped off and I'm bleeding again. It's a very raw sensation. On the one hand, I love feeling this way, I love the rawness of sleep deprivation, self-imposed semi-starvation, and overdoses of exercise. There is nothing that compares to the intensity of the state I inhabited from August 2010 through October 2010. I felt tremendously alive, capable of anything, as if I could tap into a volcano's worth of fire at a moment's notice. And yet, there is some real sadness that always seems to go hand in hand with this raw state of being. Sadness at what has been lost. Like a glass breaking into pieces or tint added to a gallon of white paint, there is no rewind, no undo. All I can do is look forward and embrace the present moment.

I made plans last night to catch my favorite instructor, Lex's class with one of my fellow teacher trainers, Carrie, before meeting up with Shelley and Jaime to practice teach. I wound up walking up the stairs with Carrie as we attempted to leave our workdays behind us. I think her day had been rougher than mine, but I felt like we both looked forward to Lex's class with optimism, it would be her first one and her first trip to Haute, whereas for me it was roughly my one year anniversary. I ventured into the studio, placed my mat, and stretched out with my eyes closed, retreating inward, diving into my vision of pratyahara. With my eyes and lips sealed, my breath culled the heat out of my body as my tension released. Lex brought the class to life with a greeting and began her theme about samadhi and specifically how active pranayama distinguishes a deep sensation from pain. The concept is that when we lose our breath, it is no longer yoga. And so the twisted evening of irony began.

Of all the themes for me to hear, that one is one of the toughest. My challenge is, and has always been, a difficulty relaxing, difficulty accepting anything below maximum effort. I love to blur the lines between a deep sensation and actual pain, it makes me feel alive. What I love so much about my private sessions, what I crave every Tuesday and Thursday morning is how far Shane lets me explore my phyiscal boundaries. I usually fall to the mat 5-10 times with Shane and it's OK by him to be doing that, he feels comfortable and so do I. Sometimes I wonder if I am hitting mental limits or physical limits, sometims I worry that my brain shuts off before my body, but without failure there is no context of what is too much. When he has me past my edge, I often lose touch with my breath, but he is OK with that and so am I. It's a great physical cue for him, he can use it to judge how much further to push me before the point of complete failure. It's also a great thing to try to work through. So many times in low plank or twisted triangle or cobra or mountain climbers, when I'm gasping short sips of air, a gentle reminder to breath deep and embrace the sensation brings me back in line with my edge. In fact, during headstand today, exploring a gentle backbend, I almost lost control and Shane thought for sure that I was going over, but somehow I managed to save it at the very last possible moment. When I extend beyond my edge, sometimes I can bring myself back, sometimes I come crashing down. It's one of the most beautiful pieces of what I experience with Shane, and not something that is safe or practical within a group class environment.

So, already I'm off kilter because of the message. But, OK, let the message be the message, let me absorb what I can of it. I don't have to reject my inner essence just because the message tells me that what I love isn't yoga. There are other people in this room, maybe one of them will embrace the message for me. Maybe today is just not my day to absorb the message. Relax, accept, let it be, practice, proceed. It is, after all, my practice, I can make it anything I want it to be. So, I tune out the content of the words and focus on the beauty of Lex's tone, the steadiness of her pace, and I even laugh a little when I catch her making a subtle slipup, saying foot instead of hand, and then taking an extra 5 seconds to regroup and start the next series. I find myself spending a lot of time with my eyes closed, as I often do, but even more so than normal this day and I'm not sure why, it just feels right. Perhaps because we are covering balancing series in our teacher training and I'd really like to improve my balance so closing my eyes in simpler poses adds an extra element of balance training. Perhaps I just really want to be in my own little bubble. Eventually, however, I find I am unable to hold my balance with my eyes closed and I open them. My gaze drifts towards the top that the woman in front of me is wearing, it is charcoal and pink, and I've seen it before. As we inhale from extended side angle into reverse warrior I find my brain making a connection before I fully understand where it is going. On the next warrior 1, vera bhadrasana, I see the face in the mirror and realize I am 6 inches from the mat of my ex-fiance.

It's hard to describe the impact of moments like this. I suppose normal people would have noticed much sooner, at the beginning of class perhaps. I don't look around when I place my mat, I retreat into my self, and I try to avoid looking in the mirror as well because my balance is so shaky. I even remember one specific class, one specific moment where I had failed out of standing head to knee and I looked over at Jenna laying down on her extended front leg, standing leg straight, in full expression without a glint of effort and I could not stop myself from staring in wonderment. At the peak of that moment I remember hearing Lex say something like "David, focus on yourself". I was caught in a moment of envy, of coveting another's practice. That is a great reminder, and a lesson I've tried to learn from. To be alone in a room full of people is a delicate dance, a continual path of refinement. But once reality of the present situation is absorbed, it cannot be forgotten or purged. Here I am, on my mat, halfway into class, 6 inches from the woman who has elicited tremendous amounts of emotional pain from my depths. I obviously can't move my mat, there is nowhere to hide. I can't really focus at all. I try to close my eyes and retreat even more, but I'm basically a big steaming pile for the next 30 minutes.

In retrospect, I saw this coming. I didn't sleep well the night before, I woke up super early to write down some thoughts from the weekend. I knew this had to happen, it seemed inevitable. It was almost like a cosmic bear trap that I set out for myself to step into, much like the one that wrecked me on 8/1/2010. Two worlds have collided, my past and present selfs are now indistinguishable. As I sit on the couch, next to Carrie who is a completely ironic, cosmically created, stand-in for my other x-girlfriend, Kerri, Joanna comes out of the ladies room and she and I share a few words about Hunter. Within a 6 foot radius are 3 women, one acting as a metaphorical substitute, who have substantially shaped my life over the past decade. One took me from San Francisco to San Diego, one took me from Vista to Encinitas via Solana Beach, and one took me from inflexible and injured to a new plane of strength and inspiration. An endless well of emotional confusion swirls into one big giant mess. Thankfully I have practice training afterwards, to get my mind out of its self-induced tornado. And even more fortunately, I got to wake up to Shane's reassurance this morning, that it is OK to push me beyond my limits and to smile and laugh while doing so.

Easy

2011-10-19T16:12:00.000-07:00

I've gotten annoyed with myself for being such a Deborah in my last few posts. As a result, this is an effort to drag my mind outside to play for a day. We'll see if I can hold this attempt at cheer...

I've always felt that yoga was a {sport, activity, pursuit, insert-noun-here} where women have a natural advantage. Based on sheer numbers, it definitely appears that modern yoga in the west is overwhelmingly female dominated. While I'm sure part of the reason is that many men prefer activities which allow them some remote possibility of "winning" I also think women have certain natural advantages on the mat. Here is my attempt to elaborate on that hypothesis.

1. Women have 3 evolutionary advantages in the balance and movement departments: proportionally wider hips, shorter height, and lower weight. I remember well how much easier it was to throw my body around when I was 100 lbs and 5 feet tall. I also remember despising every moment of my own skinny weakness before puberty. As an adult, I watch my little brother jump, climb trees, and dive for the football with reckless abandon and it becomes painfully clear how different those experiences are for him than they would be for me. Check out nature and you'll see many instances of smaller/lighter animals moving and balancing with ease compared to bigger/heavier ones.

2. Many women are taught to move gracefully as children. Very few dudes get anything close to this type of training. Ballet, gymnastics, diving, and dance are common pursuits for little girls and yet potentially devastating ones for boys. As a result, the vast majority of us men hit 30 before we start developing any desire to smooth out the wrinkles in our physical motions. Not only is a 20+ year head start substantial, but when you factor in the brain development potential over the first 20 years and compare it to the learning process an adult goes through, the scale tilts even further.

3. Capris, knickers, whatever you want to call them, this is the status quo for women in many sports, particularly yoga. Dudes can pretend to get by with wearing them for cycling and golf, but certainly not yoga or running. Now add in a generally lower sweat rate (I have no scientific evidence to back this up, but from what I've seen at the end of hot yoga, dudes sweat more than women) and you've got a clear advantage in terms of traction, particularly at the knees in bakasana, parivrtta anjaneasana, vrksasana, etc. As a dude, I have to carry 3 towels to class in a pathetic attempt to maintain traction, I'm constantly picking these towels off the floor, dropping them to the floor, or trying to arrange them into the right spot to avoid slipping and crashing to the floor.

4. Since women are taught at an early age to group up for trips to the bathroom, sports, socializing, hugs, slumber parties, etc, they are more comfortable being inside and surrounded by a group of like minded souls. Dudes typically start to freak out when surrounded on an 8'x2' piece of rubber by 8 others. Typical dude sports take this into consideration, in football you get a helmet and a bunch of pads so that you can be in a tight formation with another sweaty dude without having to actually touch him. Where this surfaces the most for me is prasarita padottanasana, where I sometims have to bend my neck and torso to the side to avoid grazing someone's unmentionables on the way down/up. I think water polo was a decent help here, there's enough contact in that sport to force everyone past the fear of claustrophobia.

5. Women are far more comfortable with moments in life that don't revolve around competition. Half of the guys on this planet can't go 24 hours without making a bet or challenging their best friend to some stupid, meaningless competition like eating 5 hot dogs in a minute or ripping off as many pullups as you can until your shoulder dislocates. While the modern woman seems to be embracing competition in many ways, most still know how to shut it down at least for 60 minutes. You see this all the time in class, women start mellow and rise to the challenge, they finish feeling satisfied. Meanwhile, guys (especially myself) go all crazy the first 20 minutes while the instructor is asking us to reach for the sky. We take them literally, nuke our heads and bodies in the 115 degree room, and wind up in a puddle of our own sweat, groaning our way through balasana for the entire second half.

6. Instructors are more frequently female, and women love to be lead by other women. Most guys are challenged by this. I'm sure a female firefighter or police officer could tell countless stories of the crap they have to deal with as part of every workday. While I am a bit strange in how much I enjoy being told what to do and how to do it, by both women and men, I'd wager that the majority of men respond sub-optimally to a woman in charge of their actions, even if it's only in 1 hour increments.

7. Flexibility is a lot like balance, it's more frequently pursued by young women than young men. Boys want to throw balls, hit stuff, move fast, and jump high. Girls are more apt to bend themselves into pretzels or stack blocks under their feet while in the splits just for fun and because they can. As a result, just like balance, women start off being far more capable of basic postures than men, making those first few yoga experiences far more enjoyable and dramatically increasing the odds of continuing their practice. Guys get a sense of just how inflexible they actually are, finish the night off with a 12 pack of bud light, and just want to forget about the whole miserable experience.

8. Corrections and adjustments are generally welcomed by women. With a lack of a gigantic ego to defend on a daily basis, many women long for advice on how to improve, for feedback on what they can do better. This entire approach is semi-contradictory to the rules of being a man. Boys are taught to blaze trails, demonstrate leadership (however misguided, the point is not where to go, but how fast you can get there) and establish dominance. There is no moment quite like the hopelessness of feeling your intercostals about to tear in reverse warrior and having your knee flicked as a reminder to stop collapsing it towards your midline. When it comes to physical adjustments, most of us men demonstrate substantial apprehension whereas women look forward to the assistance. I must admit that it took me at least 6 months to feel comfortable with strangers touching me in weird places, telling me to do things my body doesn't even know how to do, and asking me to do so calmly, while breathing deeply, and ignoring the buckets of sweat dripping off my limbs.

9. Patience is something more often attributed to women than men. I think some of this is biological, and some cultural. In most cultures, the man puts the moves on the woman, and therefore the woman's pursuit of a suitable mate involves a lot of patience while parsing through sub-optimal options. From the man's perspective, we are told to move quickly, to put capture and acquire that which we desire, lest it be unavailable if we wait. Perhaps this is not a universal truth, but merely representative of the ability many women have to internalize patience, to be simultaneously content while pursuing change. And if there is any sport that rewards patience, it's yoga. Sure, in all sports we improve over the long haul, but with many sports there is a nice and reasonably steady packback from effort. Establish a 21 day habit with running and you will surely feel better at the same pace and distance. The same holds for swimming, cycling, weightlifting, baseball, basketball, maybe everything except golf. However, 21 days of yoga will get you somewhere just below the surface, immersed in a confusing routine of pain and suffering that you haven't even begun to understand yet. Worse than that, by 21 days, people will start to recognize you and stop treating you like an impresionable novice, you'll find out you really haven't been doing any of the lunges "right" and savasana will become the only asana you feel any confidence with. It takes about 6 months to know hear which way is up, and maybe a year before you are equipped with the capacity to take positive action on what you are now able to hear. Mostly because there's no ball, no goal, no end zone to focus your attention on, just a slew of banda's and nadi's, things you can't see or touch or yell at.

10. Dudes carry wallets, women carry purses. Stand outside a yoga studio and watch people walking in/out. Half the women will have a nice yoga bag which has a place for their mat, a pocket for their sweaty stuff, and another space for keys, phone, earrings, hair band, lipstick, etc. With that slung over their shoulder, they have hands free to drink out of their pba-free water bottle as they walk to their prius which doesn't even need the keys accessible anyway. Now look at the dudes. Most of us leave a drip-trail behind as we walk to our rusty pickup truck after getting the snot kicked out of us. Most of us are too cheap, stubborn, or lazy to own anything fancier than a trash bag to put our sweaty crap in. As a result, when I walk in/out of the studio, I almost always drop something. I have my heavy-as-hell manduka mat, my yogitoes towel, one manduka hand towel, and two scratchy washcloth-quality towels for natarajasana and vrksasana (I'm thinking about bringing sandpaper instead of towels for those). That's all stacked in/on/under my left hand/arm. My right arm attempts to hold my car keys, my barcode, my water bottle, my shorts for after class, a plastic bag for wet clothes, and maybe a scrap of some sort of energy bar to fuel me from the door back to my vehicle. Since my balance is sucky to begin with, I'm a walking disaster in this configuration.

So, you can clearly see how yoga is a sport where women should (and do) dominate. It's just set up to play to their strengths and encourage their success. The barrier to entry for guys is substantial, but the payoff of making it through hell week (which is more like hell year) is the opportunity for an endless supply of estrogen whenever you need it. Feeling bummed out because your nfl team lost? Hit the yoga studio and you'll forget all about it by the end of class. Annoyed at your neighbor b/c he bought that new 4 door pickup truck you wanted so badly but can't justify? Stick it to him by kicking it to the sky in floor bow. Angry at your household pet for scratching up your new leather couch? Rip off a few dozen chaturanga's and you'll feel like the top dog you really wish you were.

DIno

2011-10-17T13:46:00.001-07:00

I did not truly know you, but you changed my life. That sounds audacious, and it is, very much so. I've explained this before, to some of the leaders of my yogic journey, but I feel your passing gives me cause to pass it on to you, in words you can no longer read, but with the hope that this sentiment will carry out to you.

I was broken when I found your studio. So broken that I could not really understand what I was looking at. My first class in your space was destruction, bodies moving in heat, immersion in sweat. My first impression of that first instructor was confusion and bewilderment. Shane has since become my strongest guide and every Tuesday and Thursday morning he teaches me more than I can ever hope to absorb.

On November 14th I was moved to deepen my practice, to commit to the work that I needed to do. I started my healing in your presence and under the guidance of those who you and your wife selected and welcomed into your extended family business. As I passed through the studio, I would see you walking, talking, standing, smiling. You were large, the embodiment of strength itself. If it had not been for the soft look on your face I would have been intimidated. I probably was anyway. And yet your words were always kind, even though you had no idea who I was.

The space you built nourished parts of me that I never knew I was supposed to feed. The people you had drawn in became acquaintances, friends, and some even flowed into my inner circle. They became part of my support system, those who I share joy and pain with. They continue to help me heal and prosper, they challenge me and they also accept me, much as you must have with them.

You changed my outlook, simply by doing what you love to do, by setting up a world where pursuit of health and happiness was the primary goal. Amazingly enough, you were also able to successfully run this business and expand to a 2nd location during a timeframe when all economic indicators were consistently pessimistic. You dealt with all of the headaches of construction efforts, permits, materials, slipped schedules, and you built something every bit as awesome as the first studio, only bigger, more spacious, more awesome. This whole time you knew your days were numbered, and yet you chose to give your time away instead of keeping it for yourself. I am in awe of that accomplishment.

I wasn't aware of your passing until well after it must have happened. Probably because I doubt you ever knew my name. But I felt you leaving somehow, I felt off balance, confused, inverted. I wasn't able to practice that Thursday morning, I took Shane to breakfast instead and we just talked and he helped me to understand what I was feeling.

I will miss you, but at the same time I feel like I will know you better with every year that passes as I follow along behind you in my own journey, just as you must have followed someone in yours. I would have liked to say "Thank You" sometime, but I was not quick enough to understand the urgency of your schedule. I will instead extend my gratitude towards those who you leave behind. Together we will honor you by honoring ourselves.

Friendship

2011-10-17T06:50:00.000-07:00

It's 5am and my mind is racing, processing a myriad of thoughts from the weekend. At this point, I don't believe there is any chance of falling back to sleep. Hunter is snoring at the floor next to the foot of the bed, exhausted from an evening of affection, foraging for food scraps on the floor, and meeting a new guest (a maltese) brought by a friend. The roommates are also quiet, although as I write this, Trevor stirs and gets ready for his 6am group workout. There is a stillness throughout the house, a peace and calm that I haven't felt for days because I packed this weekend as full as I possibly could and as a result I got so much more out of it than I ever expected.

The fabric of the next few pages will touch on some of the concepts that have been discussed recently in yoga tt class and also some of the thoughts that have been stirring in my head. I will describe my dharma, the impact of acknowledgment, how I experience gratitude, and most especially for me, the joy I feel for the friendships I have been blessed with. I don't expect anyone to be able to read this entire block, it's simply too long and convoluted to make any sense to anyone other than myself, but I write it so that I will remember, and I offer it in case there is any piece worth taking. There is no discussion of racing in this post, just endless ramblings of thoughts about common and ordinary events. In the interest of organizing these thoughts, I'm going to proceed chronologically as I recap events, and while doing so, intersperse my angles like a garnish.

Friday was a highly anticipated day for me. I was giddy with excitement and expectation as I counted down the days and then hours until my first meditation session. It was lead by a woman with life experience that greatly surpassed her meager years, someone who has lived and experienced situations and intensity which makes my own life experience seem like a sanitized and bubble-wrapped version. There was no immediate epiphany from this first meditation session, but as I get closer to understanding some of what I am learning, I am realizing that the process of embracing yoga and eastern "philosophy" if I am willing to use that term, is more about the development of my long term "health" than it is about any individual moment of shining brilliance. More on that later, but let me wrap up Friday with a description of my mood. I felt completely at peace, softer than I had felt in years, perhaps ever, and so calm I had no interest in anything but returning to my cocoon and attempting to "just be." I drifted off the sleep feeling utter contentment. So maybe there is something to that whole meditation thing after all.

Saturday morning came quickly and I was so relaxed I burned up every last minute of sleep before heading off to coach my group of runners. Roommate Trevor made a surprise visit to lead the stretching and I felt another huge wave of gratitude for his willingness to be there for a team he isn't actively working with, and on such short notice. One of the other coaches was getting married that day, so I was flying light and I was so happy to have someone else to lean on. In my moments of need, Trevor has shown up and given freely, and for that I feel genuinely blessed. We had a great workout, perhaps better than I had hoped for, with lots of positive feedback, and a few "I just did the longest run of my life" proclamations at the end. It was a completely satisfying experience.

After coaching, the plan was to knock out the marathon bench press challenge attempt #2, but Jeff was forced to reschedule and I didn't want to attempt it solo, so I wandered over to the nearest yoga studio where I saw my friend's car. I hadn't seen her in a week and I wanted to bask in her glow, I told her this weekend that everything she touches seems to turn to gold and it's just absolutely true. After climbing the steps, I realized I had missed her class by 10 minutes, too much time to jump in late, and so I headed off north, grabbed an acai bowl, spent 20 minutes catching up with my dad, and found my way to the carlsbad yoga studio for the noon class with a different friend, someone with completely different energy, but yet someone who's class always inspires and challenges me. I got everything I wanted out of that hour, in 60 short minutes I felt back in tune with the pulse of life from that studio which I hadn't been to in weeks. As I left, I longingly looked through the cracked door at the teacher training session going on, the original teacher training that had started the gears turning, and eventually put me in training I am doing at a different studio. I felt the warmth from one of my friends who I knew was in that room, even though I did not see his face directly. I smiled all the way back to my own class.

Teacher training on the weekends is apparently lead by 2 of the 4 instructors. This was my first weekend session, having missed the last two with trips to San Jose and Chicago to indulge in running. We started off with one of the instructors leading us through the beginning of the flow we are using as our framework, and paying special attention to her word selection, tone, movement around the room, and the buildup she uses to set the stage. I felt my heat building as it always does in her class, a mixture of admiration for what I cannot yet do, both in terms of execution of asanas and in terms of clarity and inspiration of verbal guidance. The gratitude I felt manifested in beads of sweat that dripped from my limbs in the unheated room. Next, each of us received a chance to lead as we repeated that same flow twice more. This was my first "round robin" experience, the first time I would be on the hot seat, along with everyone else, and I greeted it with the same eager anticipation I had felt for the meditation session, knowing I was completely unprepared, but feeling an openness to experience the richness of catastrophic failure with untainted naivety.

The beauty of the next 20 minutes is hard for me to describe. Hearing everyone's voice come through was a complete delight, not unlike the experience of finally enjoying an entire cup of coffee (a process that came with a few false starts for me). Sure, we all need practice before we are ready to actually teach, but just like a child developing his or her personality, we all began to grow in that session. I was sad that it had to end, but what followed was a lecture on Ayurveda which tore my attention back into the present and captivated my thoughts for the rest of the afternoon.

I must take a quick side-trip back to Shane, my Tue/Thur morning yoga instructor, who actually introduced me to ayurveda before I even knew what he was talking about. Shane mentioned to me a couple of weeks ago that he felt I expressed a strong Pitta, and this analysis proved entirely true as we took the dosha quiz, although I was pleasantly surprised to see a lot of Kapha and even some Vata in the mix. One other thing Shane had mentioned to me rang out especially relevant as we neared the end of the Ayurveda lecture and we were reminded of our homework, to show gratitude to someone in our lives. One of the students told us his story, which he had written up, about connecting with an elder of special importance in his life and how the gratitude wound up coming right back to him. This struck a chord with some of Shane's words from past conversations. Shane described how he had cared for another man through his final months and how this man had wept tears of joy at how blessed he felt throughout his illness and eventual demise.

Saturday's sun set as the buzz of life washed over me, and my altered state of consciousness caused me to visit 3 different locations before settling in on dinner. I wound up gravitating to see my friend who is taking the other yoga tt, in a misguided attempt to share time with him, at a time when he was so busy we barely got a chance to knuckle bump.. Unknown to me at the time, because he was so busy working, was a minor foot injury that had developed for him on Friday and was causing him substantial pain over the weekend. More on that later too. After dinner I managed to meet up with Jeff and cross off the marathon bench press challenge attempt #2. Despite the failure to achieve the stated goal, I was invigorated.

Sunday morning was a chance for the weekly ranch run with the group, except that the group this week consisted of only one, Luc, who took me on a long and easy tour of flat dirt. It wasn't a typical Sunday ranch run, but it was extremely pleasant, this man who I've run with for a decade now has recently changed his training plan and for the first time since I've known him, he's running easier. Of course easier is relative and he took the opportunity to leave me behind on the last few hills with a lightness that erases the 20 year age gap between us. We shared coffee and gatorade, and then parted, as I had to take care of shopping for dinner before teacher training.

I got the groceries into the fridge/freezer just in time to jump in the shower and jet to class, arriving perhaps 30 seconds late, but able to immerse myself in the pool of other students as we gathered in the lobby. A short discussion of Breaking Bad ensued, and I felt strangely normal for talking about a tv show in a yoga studio. I guess it really shouldn't be strange, but I was surprised that it didn't feel unnatural. We gathered in a circle and started with some group discussion and that is when a mountain of a moment revealed itself. Or perhaps it was more like a rogue wave that splashed over the deck of our ship and caused us all to stop our own mental chatter and sit at attention. It really seemed to come out of nowhere, I remember blurting out something silly and mundane immediately prior. Somehow the sharpness of intellect or intuition guided one of the instructors to ask the right question at the right time and the clouds lifted revealing that beautiful mountain which had been there the whole time, I just wasn't paying attention to it. I don't know how that moment affected anyone else, but it spoke volumes to me about humanity, about how beautiful it is to be alive and to have sentiment, even if we frequently feel pain and disappointment. Time slowed to a halt and empathy flowed freely. I still get shivers thinking about it. The raw expression left a mark on my heart.

We moved into a discussion of crescent lunge, one of the asanas which started out as a favorite before I knew or understood all of the work that I wasn't putting into it. It has since become one of the more difficult poses for me, perhaps second only to warrior I which I think is only easier because I simply can't do it right. Spiraling my legs is a skill I feel I am only scratching the surface with, and watching our instructor demonstrate flexed, pointed, flointed, and karate chopped ankle/foot position was one of the most enlightening and also depressing moments I've ever had in the studio. It is fantastic to know and understand, to have the details presented and revealed as the covers are drawn back. And yet, with the loss of innocence comes a natural feeling of desperation, that there is so much to learn and attempt to master, it becomes easy to feel helpless because my foot can't do any of those 4 motions very cleanly, I can't lift my 3 middle toes, and my foot actually looks more like road kill than my most important connection to the earth.

The Sunday class ended with part 2 of our anatomy lecture, where we got to see the passion of Dr. Ian on full display as he discussed his views about medications and the definition of health. Just as it had been a real joy to experience the meditation session on Friday, it was wonderful to see the passion dripping from his lips as he made his case. When I pay attention, I can see so clearly how different people are when they are doing or talking about something they love and fully embrace with all of their heart, as compared to doing or talking about something they are knowledgeable of but feel no special fondness for. The energy is much higher, and the excitement is invigorating when part of their heart is in the game as well.

There wasn't much time to gather my thoughts after class, because I had to attempt to prepare food for my guests. It wound up being a large gathering, for some reason everyone who was invited showed up and a few extras even managed to make it. I could feel the stress rising as I realized my own limitations regarding food preparation. And it is at precisely this time when the lessons of the weekend and the past few weeks really started to kick in and hit home.

My first guest arrived and explained the sequence of events surrounding his foot injury, how it had so quickly started hurting, and how the pain had seemingly disappeared 48 hours later. His teacher training has involved an extended discussion of all the points in the foot which affect the entire rest of the body, and he also has some anusara background which he shared with me, describing the toes and fingers and what their meanings are, why we close thumb and forefinger in a ring to combine the Self with the universe, and all sorts of insightful angles on the injury. I had to tear myself away to shower up, and when I came back, many of my friends had already arrived.

Sharing my home with the people who are dear to me is one of the greatest joys I feel. It's an opening of myself and my space to those I trust with my heart. What is especially wonderful about these evenings, which may just be my take on the experiences, is how all of my friends pitch in to make it happen. I don't ever ask anyone to do anything, but each and every one of my friends always asks what they can do to help. That kind of inspiration overflows my cup of gratitude. One friend asked what was planned for dinner in order to pair the right wine to bring, and my reply of "nourishment for the soul" didn't deter her from her quest. Other friends asked what they can bring and didn't even seem to mind when I responded with "your warm heart and pure soul". OK, so, yeah, I was definitely a bit overly-zen, and yet these friends, the ones I love, respect and admire, are totally content with that, completely accepting and embracing of all of my funky silliness.

I did precious little food preparation myself, as an army of friends descended and conquered the task, including the dish washing, wine pouring, introductions, and keeping the mood enjoyable and upbeat. If I had taken a moment to absorb everything, I would have felt like a completely soaked sponge. It was one of those magnificent moments that stretched on for hours, where everyone and everything seemed harmonious. And then the sink clogged and backed up.

Yeah, so, that last sentence really doesn't fit with the rest of this entry. It was a bit of a mood killer. I have to admit that, when it happened, it snapped me back to reality. I felt instant panic. Then I went through the mental checklist of options and workarounds as I evaluated my predicament. It didn't seem possible to get through the evening without the sink, especially with it full of soapy water. I had to take the drain apart and find the clog, there really wasn't an alternative option. As I approached and then dove into that effort, I was reminded of my purpose, for the evening, and for life in general, what is known as my dharma. I have gradually understood, over the past 36 years, that I am meant to be the foundation upon which others stand up and reach for the sky. I am not especially good at greetings, at making people feel at ease, or introducing, and I struggle with general social graces, expressions of gratitude, being appropriate and tactful, and all of the social skills in and around most human interaction. I'm not sure how much of that deficiency is genetic and how much is my fault for not paying attention earlier in life. I am severely stoked to make some general (and slow) progress to improve in those areas. But where I excel currently, where I am in my element, is the unglamorous problem solving and infrastructure that enables everyone else to live, to enjoy, to prosper, and to ignore the mundane "work" that has to be done to support life.

My Dharma is to support. The truth of that has been revealed to me over my lifetime. In high school, when it came time for everyone to receive a part for the "variety show," I was in heaven working behind the scenes along with the "trenchcoat maffia" crew to build out the set, cue the actors, and ensure the production went flawlessly. I loved every minute of that experience, I was completely content to avoid any hint of visibility from the audience. In college, my social role was much the same, if there was a problem, yo, I'll solve it. I carried as many tools to my dorm room each year as I carried books, and I built a few elaborate lofts, one for a friend of mine who cursed me loudly as he attempted to disassemble it at the end of the year. Since then, I've slipped even deeper into the role of the concrete beneath other's feet, the foundation upon which structures can be built. When I reach for the sky myself, it's not often pretty, but when I enable someone else to reach, I feel such an incredible sense of self worth in their beauty. This drives my passion for pacing, and most of my friendships and interactions, the desire to please, and the act of encouragement and enabling others to be their best.

OK, so, back to reality right? I have this clogged sink of unknown origin, and I'm not actually a plumber, though I did install the disposer and I've done my share of tinkering. As I disassemble the drain pieces, bit by bit, one of my friends gently heckles me that I'm not showing nearly enough plumbers crack. I think of my plumber who I last saw when his band played at a nearby bar, a night that was just as perfect and fun as Sunday night. I know I can't call him because he lives too far away and he's got a wife and kid, and really this is just a simple problem, a clogged drain, it's time to man up and deal. I uncouple the pieces of 2" ABS which include the section from the disposer to the 2nd sink, then a connection for the RO unit, then the trap and finally the section feeding into the wall. For some interesting reason, I start from the ground and work my way up, perhaps this is the yoga TT speaking to me about life. I loosen the trap but it's as if there is no clog, no water emerges. I continue up and find the source of the clog to be the top of the connection for the RO wastewater. I find this out rather forcefully as water filled with garlic and soap sprays around inside the sink cabinet. My friend quickly helps out as we pan away the water, and attempt to contain and clean up the mess.

In the end, an hour is lost playing under the sink. Sure, it's an hour I would love to have had to be with my guests, and it was probably a completely preventable problem, either by design of the drain pipes or by being a bit more cautious about running the disposal or using the trash can for garlic bits. But as my friend leans in and asks me "did you enjoy that" I have to respond with "yes". It is my calling to tackle life's challenges when I am not prepared, when I'm not ready. Just as I received the call to lead the yoga teacher training group through our round robin after 30 or 40 minutes of practicing for everyone else, at a time when my body was dripping with sweat that stained my eyes and altered my ability to concentrate, so too was I called upon, Sunday night, to unclog my own drain, in the middle of a gathering of my friends when I wasn't remotely ready. It makes total sense. It's who I am, it's what I do, it's how I am meant to be me.

As the guests left, one by one, I found my heart was full and my soul nourished as I had predicted. Each one of them enriches my life in ways I cannot do for myself, and they all do so without needing me to ask, or without expecting anything in return. I prepared less than 10% of the food and did none of the dishes, all of the normal "work" was all taken care of for me, by smiling faces willing to do it all over again next time. My gatherings aren't remotely by the book, but they fill my heart and they teach me about myself and about life every time.

I didn't cry this weekend, but I felt like virtual tears of gratitude were present the entire way as I watched and observed, soaked and absorbed the wonder of the world around me.

Bitter

2011-10-15T20:25:00.000-07:00

Oh how the taste of failure can be such a bitter pill. I don't have much to say about Marathon Bench Press Challenge Attempt #2. It didn't go how I would have liked it to and yet it went about as I expected. What is so beautiful about the bench press is that there's no in-between. There's no grey area. Either you manage the lift or you don't. It's success or failure, and in this case bitter, oh-so-bitter failure. That's OK though, in fact it's quite awesome because it keeps the dream alive. Honolulu just became that much more interesting. Maybe I'll even lift once or twice before the race this time. I'll have to think about that and decide if I consider it cheating...

NOTE: Gavin DeGraw's "Not Over You" is playing in the background. I didn't even notice that during the attempt. I love that song. How ironic, though, that the title of the song depicts the events taking place so literally, with an unintentional double entendre.

Into the Mystic

2011-10-14T11:54:00.000-07:00

Cue the Van Morrison music (...we were born before the wind...)

We, as lemming students, were asked to write about these three words:

Dharma

Mantra

The first two don't really resonate with me, at least not immediately, not at this point in time. Nonetheless, I will jot down my thoughts on them because I'm one of those color-inside-the-lines types of people.

The last one, well, shoot, I think I write about that all the time. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Om (aka Aum)

Honestly, I'm still mildly (ok, possibly even more than mildly) unimpressed with the whole yogic fascination with the sound of Om, the repeating of Om, and the apparent spirituality of the sound of Om. Maybe that will change over time. I'm not really sure. Part of me has difficulty with this because it almost feels like worship of a pagan god to have a room full of Oms even though the rational side of me realizes Om is not intended to represent devotion to a spiritual being. Part of me thinks my mother would not approve of me Oming. Part of me thinks it's just a childish and silly noise. Part of me is just bored by it. All of those parts probably don't really "get" it, but each of us arrives on our own timeline, and I guess I'm not moving so fast on those points.

But, OK, forget about the sound. That's not what Om is really about, what you hear is just a tiny little piece of Om. And while I don't necessarily associate the word Om in my life directly, I have opened up my thoughts to explore the concept of "the fabric of our collective existence." This concept seems to line up fairly well with some of the definitions and descriptions of Om. So, OK, I accept you, Mr. Om, even if I choose not to call you by your name. And before I get off on a horrendous metaphysical slant, let me try to bring this all back down to earth.

Up until maybe a year ago, maybe even more recently, I would tune out when I heard people talk about "putting energy out into the universe" or "meditating and waiting for divine inspiration". It all seemed so passive, and in many ways anti-American to sit and do nothing and maybe ask for guidance without any human nearby to help you. And while I wouldn't say I've had anything resembling a complete turnaround on that subject, I have been blessed with an opportunity to tune in more, to take the time to observe myself and my reactions, and also to observe others and their reactions to life's events. It's easy to think of each decision, each action, as isolated in time and space. But the reality is that every interaction we have affects each of us and alters all of our paths. For a fun journey down that rabbit hole, check out "The Butterfly Effect".

Specifically, I'll describe one personal anecdote which illustrates the interconnectedness that exists when we tune in. There are many more I could discuss, so many different angles on this concept, but the most recent concrete example in my life seems like the most fun to share. To tell the story requires me to go back in time, way back to 2004.

I wound up unemployed for most of 2003, and I used that opportunity to indulge in a year long fury of dedicated training. I got pretty fit and hit some goals, but the real payoff came in 2004 when that cumulative yearlong effort was fully absorbed. I kept training pretty hard despite my work schedule, wound up finishing 222nd in Kona feeling entirely satisfied with myself. Thanksgiving arrived and I made the annual pilgrimage to Dana Point for the Turkey Trot, since the Oceanside TT had not yet been established back then and I needed to justify the mountain of food I planned to consume that evening. I started off running what I thought was a decent pace, and wound up in the middle of a pack of guys, near Michael Collins and Steve Chrapchynski, both of whom I knew from other triathlons. As we stretched out towards the first turnaround, I noticed a young woman in her race briefs and tank, with long arms and legs and a seamless stride. Lauren Fleshman sailed right by and proceeded to put a minute into me by the finish. I went home with my tail between my legs after that one, not fully realizing that she would wind up on the cover of Runner's World after a 7th place at World's in the 5000 once 2011 rolled around.

So, fast forward to 2010, when I started reading a bunch of my friend's blogs for inspiration to dig myself out of a 3 year slump. It was such a great way to stay in touch, somewhat of the antithesis of facebook status updates and twitter/text's abbreviated language which irks me so much. You write your story once and everyone has a chance to read it, those who are interested can do so on their own schedule and those who really don't care aren't bothered by it. I started writing my own blog and found it extremely cathartic, it was something I wanted to continue doing. I added more and more blogs to my list to read and eventually stumbled across Lauren's blog. I couldn't help but get excited with her descriptions of the preparation surrounding worlds and her writups of the experience after her race. A little bit of comment surfing brought a few new entries into my blogroll, something Charisa had said would happen and would be one of the coolest parts of the effort. One such addition was a med student in NY named Meggie who shared a background in competitive tennis and I found her thoughts struck a chord for that reason. Meggie wound up blogging fairly incessantly about her love of the Believe I Am training journal that Lauren and her business partner had produced and which recently came to market. From my cursory analysis, there seemed quite a bit of overlap between the training journal concepts and the suggestions in Matt Fitzgerald's book about the mind body connection of running, a book given to me by the Goddess, Alyssa Godesky.

Meanwhile, my Teach Challenge coaching gig was rolling along and I began to understand and explore the personalities of the participants through disjointed discussions. One of my athletes, Lindsey, told me about how she really likes the structured training plan, that she puts each week's schedule up on the fridge, writes in her workout once it is complete, and holds herself accountable in front of her family and to herself. Immediately, the light bulb went on and I felt compelled to connect the dots. I wouldn't have been coaching these athletes without my friendship with David Volk which evolved over many years prior. I wouldn't have met Lindsey without coaching her. I wouldn't have been reading Lauren Fleshman's blog without her giving me a whooping back in 2004, and I wouldn't have known about the training journal without reading Meggie's blog. All of those things happened, and then the universe decided to hammer the point home when it delivered a freak rainstorm to San Diego on the night of our next group workout. Lindsey was the only participant to show up that evening, and she performed her very first ever interval workout valiantly and fearlessly despite the sogginess.

Now, granted, a journal is just stuff, an inanimate object, but for Lindsey I suspect it will be a positive framework for her overall health, a subject that is especially important to her. And while I don't suspect that a journal alone will bring any dramatic transformation to her life, it felt like it was such an obvious and easy way to add a spread the joy of life around from Lauren, through Meggie, to Lindsey. By watching it all play out and unfold, I inch closer to being a believer in the conceptual silent Om's taking place around me every day, and I renew my intention to listen more to the rythm of nature. And within that context I see beauty in life that I had spent 34 years ignoring or taking for granted.

Next up, Dharma. And then, yep, you guessed it, Mantra. Oh I worry that Mantra will be a looooooong entry, but maybe I will find the right words to make it concise.

Challenge

2011-10-12T06:14:00.000-07:00

This Saturday I will make my second attempt to join the "Bench Press Your Marathon Time" club. This club has no formal definition nor any members that I know of. The rules are simple, run a marathon, then within one week, bench press a weight greater than your marathon time. It should be straightforward, but it is actually quite a challenge. My last attempt was a failure, 6 days after RnR, attempting 245 lbs to cover the 2:43 I ran.

Assist

2011-10-09T17:44:00.001-07:00

Returning to Chicago for my third year initially served as a post western states carrot for me. Since Jeff and David Lipke were both returning as well, it seemed like a great opportunity to go back and enjoy the race. My first Chicago marathon, in 30 degree temps, was anything but enjoyable. My second, last year's pr, was all business, work, discipline, and focus. This year, 2011, was an opportunity to just have a great weekend and enjoy the city and time spent with friends.

The weekend started off with a late movie with Cody, my 11 y/o little bro. We saw a Doliphin Tale which was unexpectedly good, particularly the child acting. I didnt even mind getting only 4 hours of sleep that night before hopping on the 7am flight to Midway. Lipke joined me at the gate and immediatley the entertainment began. As we approached the CTA station to ride the orange line, we decided to stop at the Dunkin Donuts for breakfast. After an extended discussion with all of the people in earshot, Lipke settled on a glazed and a long john, we both had coffee, and i went for a plain, dry, multigrain bagel. While that sounds perfectly boring as hell, the discussion preceeding the selection was anything but boring or ordinary. We hopped on the train and Lipke went to work befriending everyone in the car.

Acting as lemmings, we followed an Amy from Atlanta off the train, to the shuttle bus, and off to the expo. Amy climbs mountains, runs a marathon every month, and stays in hostels when traveling. After realizing we were soft and collecting our bibs and shirts, we went off to the hotel where Lipke proceeded to collect all of the free items available. Gotta love that guy! We made our way to the lobby bar to watch some Virginia Tech football and have a few beers, where we met up with Jeff and Becky as well as Lipke's sister, Lisa, and her pal, Lindsay. Lisa ran 2:50 last year at Chicago, and while that served as a family PR, she was here this year to hit the Olympic B standard of 2:45:59. I had signed on board to be her pacer, purely out of selfish reasons to put some meaning behind my effort. Lindsay planned to join us as well, and lets just say that I was definitely not upset about spending almost 3 hours in the company of such lovely ladies. Dinner, city navigation, and a fitful night of sleep ticked by and before I realized it, the 5:15 alarm woke me from some deep REM sleep.

Jeffrey, Me, Lipke

Walking to the race was very smooth this year, much closer than last year's hotel selection. Once at the race, however, the typical cluster ensued. I made it into the seeded corral ok, but i was too early this year, so I got to see many male and female bums squatting on tree roots, along with several fence climbers. I kept thinking that the race could do a better job with the seeded start corrals. Last year I had the privilege of being in the elite development corral which was a very nice step up from corral A, but this year the 7 second differential between my PR and the elite development cutoff kept me out, with the explanation that there would be too many people, so no exceptions could be made. I was bummed, but figured i could make my way up to the girls before the first mile marker and as it wound up, I had no trouble finding them.

Lisa, Me, Lindsay

Approaching the two from about 20 seconds back, I instantly started smiling. Mostly because I really do enjoy pacing, it fills my desire to be useful and relevant, while simultaneously allowing me to shred myself. I was extra appreciative of the opportunity to pace such gracious and fine looking female athletes. I dare say they both have fantastic muscle definition and smooth strides. I grinned as I settled into their pace.

The week before, at San Jose, I had to hold Jessica back. Based on last years's splits, I assumed I would have to do the same with Lisa. However, they ran even smarter than i could have hoped and we hit the halfway in 1:22:45 or so. I was actually quite nervous about that because I knew it was going to be a warm day and I thought it would be smart to have a 60-90 second cushion by mile 20. Lisa turned it on at around mile 14, and we started clicking off a few 6:10's which was all I needed to see to stop worrying. Unfortunately, we dropped Lindsay around mile 17 or 18 after a few of these faster miles, and it didnt seem like she was going to be able to bridge the gap. I ran past Chaz, Ashley, Marley and Thora and got a great boost from their smiles and positivity. I also was very grateful for the husbands out on the course, both Derik and Brian were everywhere and so helpful.

Lisa demonstrated a tenacious confidence over the final 10k, running tight to my shoulder and keeping the effort maxed out. I was throughly impressed and genuinely stoked for her, though I kept that to myself for fear that it might slip away. I gave her what I felt was just enough praise to keep her fighting, meanwhile I started to wonder if my legs would hold up in the heat. I could feel my hip flexors tightening a bit and general fatigue setting in. There was no question that I would ruin myself to give her that 2:45, it was obviously the right day, in spite of the heat. I wasn't about to let my own insecurities have any voice in my mental chatter.

We passed quite a few women over the final 5k. I declared victory at 1 mile to go when I caculated we had well over 7 minutes to make it to the line. Lisa crossed right around 2:45 flat and seemed both surprised and satisfied. I was very grateful to share that moment with her, one that I'm sure means far more to her than I can ever understand myself. Jeff arrived a few minutes later, but I didn't see him until we got our gear bags. Lindsay was close behind, running a very similar race to Lisa's 2010 effort. I am thinking 2012 might be Lindsay's year to get her B standard :). Lipke rolled through and we grabbed a beer, took some photos, met up with Jeff, and went back to the hotel to clean up.

Looking back on the race, I find myself very satisfied with this course. I've experienced a total meltdown (more like a freezedown) and a pr beyond anything I thought possible, and now I have added my first successful pacing experience for the Olympic B standard. I have to say, I love these experiences, even the really difficult days, because they show me sides of myself that I dont get to see every day. Chicago is such a wonderful city (when its not freezing) and I have such indellible memories here.

Looking forward, I'm thinking about NYC in 2012. I feel like that is an experience I need to have at some point, and I think I'd like to experience it soon. In the meantime, perhaps I will make Jeff suffer through a PR attempt at Honolulu in December.

I also want to mention how inspired I was hearing about how the day went in Kona before our race. I have so many friends who can put up such silly times at Ironman that I can't help but feel some of their energy from thousands of miles away. It truly is a gift to be able to do the things we do, and to feel that extra special "good pain" that we all love so much.

San Jose

2011-10-03T10:02:00.000-07:00

My roommate, Paul Wellman, had been targeting the San Jose half marathon for the last few months of his training. As I watched his dedication and intense focus, I realized I didn't want to miss out on the party. When the call came from David Kloz to pace BSK/RC/FlexR teammate Jessica, I readily accepted. How could I turn down a free entry with VIP privileges, a solid workout, and a chance to see and experience some great racing? I booked my flight up, made plans to drive back with Jessica and Sean, and attempted to fit in a little bit of training to prepare.

Saturday morning dawned early and I went off to my Team Challenge coaching gig at Cannon Park in Carlsbad after a stop at Pannikin for a pumpkin muffin and soy latte. My other roommate, Trevor, and his trusty sidekick Jen met up with the team so they could get to know some of them for an upcoming functional strength clinic they will give next Saturday. The workout was fantastic, we had beautiful sunshine, and I even got most of the group to take their shoes off and do some strides on the grass afterwards.

A quick shower and I was off to the airport and on a plane, surrounded by the SDSU women's soccer team. Go Aztecs! That part didn't suck too bad. Once we landed, I had a choice. The expo for the race was downtown, which was roughly 4 miles from the airport. Taxi's were a $15 minimum though, and I was annoyed by that. So annoyed that I walked instead of taking a ride. Compared to SFO with BART or PDX with MAX or ORD with the CTA, I gotta go thumbs down on transit options out of SJC. So, anyway, I spent the next 90 minutes or so making my way downtown, with a little bit of help from google maps on my phone and the trader joe's checkout guy who sold me some fizzy water and a couple of bananas at the halfway point. I chuckle to myself about how we are all cheap in certain ways and less frugal in others. I get to the expo, which could be any rock and roll race in any city, you wouldn't know the difference because it's all the same red carpet, black signs, and product booths. I even found the Team Challenge San Jose booth.

With my packet in my backpack, Mike comes to pick me up as I message with Vince, one of the Team Challenge mentors, about the exactness of the route I set up for that morning's workout. Note to self, go back and re-measure Cannon Park to La Costa via the campgrounds so I can see just how short of 4 miles it is. I get to the Buchanan/Hogan residence where I get to meet the newest member of the family, Fiona.

Fiona!

She is very sweet

Mike and I then proceed to evaluate Sarah's 3 guacamole recipes in preparation for her contest at work, a contest she does not intend to lose. Based on what I sampled, I don't see how she could possibly be beaten. Sarah just might be the modern renaissance woman, she cooks, she cleans, she puts up with Mike, she saves dogs, she saves the oceans, she doesn't need makeup or fancy clothes, she has great taste in drapes and paint colors, and she's gorgeous. While Mike and I take Fiona for a walk around the block, Sarah cranks out a delicious risotto which we enjoy with one of the candles from their wedding and 4 hungry dogs at our feet. Well, 3 dogs at our feet and Woody, the 170 lb mastiff, keeping his distance b/c he takes a long time to feel comfortable with people.

After dinner we walk the 3 frisky dogs to froyo, and I get to pet Woody for the first time, on our 4th encounter. To do so, I have to sit very low on the ground and stay still and Mike has to drag him over to me. The contrast between Woody's muscular strength and fear of humans to Fiona's complete lack of fitness and adoration of people couldn't be more striking. After the walk, Mike and I pass out with Fiona in a dogpile on the floor, the end to a completely wonderful Saturday.

The dogpile

My phone alarm wakes me up at 6am and I wonder to myself, I'm sore, I'm stiff, I'm old, how am I going to hold 6 minute pace for 13 miles today? I creak out of bed and compose a long winded email to one of my athletes who is going through some tough times. I BS about the benefits, both physical and mental, of finding time for a yoga practice. After I brush my teeth, Mike and I head out to the race. He drops me in the street at 7:30, with the start set for 8, plenty of time. Except for the fact that I wander around for 20 minutes trying to find the VIP tent. After some text messages from Mike who luckily parked near the information booth, I finally show up at the VIP tent as Jessica is heading off to the race start. I grab the race kit she brought for me, change clothes, throw my gear bag into gear check, and at 7:53 I'm on my way. I arrive at the line as the wheelchairs start, and somehow, in that 5 minute window before the run start I become fully present, alive, awake, and completely fired up. I find Paul and give him a yell that probably was unnecessarily annoying. It's gametime and I don't want to be anywhere else. The music is pumping, Meb and Deanna are inches away, along with all sorts of other superstars, ripped bodies, muscles bulging, six packs on display, what a sight. The gun fires and off we go, cranking out at a pace that is too fast, but feels just fine for the moment.

Approaching Mike somewhere after 5k

My job for the first 10k is to slow Jessica down. After that, my job is to speed her up. It's a strange juxtaposition, but one I know well, having raced quite a few half marathons myself. I use words like "slow" and "easy" to calm her down as much as I can while we settle into 5:55-ish pace. I figure that's close enough to where we want to be. I have to keep pushing my palms down and running just off her side and behind her to encourage her to take it easy and not drop into 5:40's. She complies every time I remind her, she isn't trying to sabotage her race, she's just fired up and ready to go which is exactly what you want for a PR attempt.

Along the way, we group up with Scott Dunlap who managed to get a great shot of Jessica from his camera, _while_ running 6 min pace. Very good blog skills, Scott! Around this time Jessica asks if she should have a gu, but I don't hear her so I apparently ignore her. My streak of ignoring women continues! I tell Jessica we are going to build starting at 6 and that it's OK to start opening up her can of whoop-ass now. She responds with a request to hold pace. I tell her it's my job to worry about pace, she just has to put her head down and run. We wind up doing what she says b/c women know best, right? Each clock we pass ticks off the seconds at :45 after within one or two. There's something just awesome about a round number mile pace, you get all this great feedback from your garmin, your brain, and the clocks along the way, you know your over/under to within a second or two, and it just makes the effort so much more focused.

At mile 10, Jessica is in 10th position (based on the official results). I tell her it's time to suffer and she responds. We catch one girl who had started to fade, with her stride unraveling. I tell Jessica that it'll feel great to catch the next group of 3 women, that she'll feel a tremendous boost if she can do that. As soon as we get close, however, that group of 3 really starts to separate, so we wind up catching and reeling them in one by one. I use phrases like "tractor beam" and "make contact" but I doubt Jessica is hearing anything other than my tone. I continue to increase my urgency and Jessica continues to respond. We are holding pace, but the effort is increasing, the crescendo builds. After the mile 12 marker I remark that it's time to give up everything she has left. I want so badly to catch and pass the woman in front of us, but Jessica has to be the one to do the work, to make the decision, to sacrifice and to hurt. As we round the final turn, Jessica has managed to get in front and I'm not sure if it's going to be a battle or a surrender so I stay as wide as I can and cheer from the side. I get a front row seat to a strong kick and a triumphant PR for Jessica, the end to an exciting race and one of the most enjoyable half marathons I can remember.

A front row seat to the final sprint at the last turn

Back in the VIP tent, amongst all the elite and leaned out runners, I proceed to demolish the free food. Since nobody else is interested in it, I figure I should do my part. I down 3 cups of coffee and try one of everything else available. I suppose skipping breakfast before the race worked out just fine, but I'm sure I'm net positive 3000 calories for the morning. Mike and I bs a bit with Dunlap, then I head off to Jessica's hotel room and bump into Meb in the hallway. A shower, a long drive home with Super Sean at the wheel, and a fantastic dinner seal up a wonderful and memorable weekend. I couldn't have asked for anything better.

Next weekend is Chicago. After how well the pacing duties went at San Jose, I'm feeling confident that we can get Lisa her 2:45. If she is even half as tough as Jessica, it should be a cakewalk.

Ensconsed

2011-09-30T16:02:00.000-07:00

From discussions with Shane and Mike, it seems possible to cleave the masses into two general categories, those who seek out pain and those who retreat from it. Of course this is a completely unfair and arbitrary distinction, with no meaning or value associated with it, but one which seems to ring true at least to those of us who, in our own head, seem to seek some sort of suffering.

Ensconse is such a bold word, it wreaks of strength and fortification, and yet in my mind it seems to be the ultimate trap to avoid. Of course there's a Phish song that brings all of this up, "Nothing" off Undermind. All alliteration aside, when I examine the lyrics, they speak to me in the language that I crave. Shane calls it "seeking out a deep sensation". Mike calls it "racing heroically". The Goddess prefers the adjective, "baller". Hillary calls it "sufferfest" and even had special shirts made.

When we attempt Ironman or ultra, a sub 65 minute half marathon (good luck on Sunday, Paul!) or our first experience at 26.2, we open ourselves up in ways we haven't imagined. Paddling out at Waimea or Sunset beach, the first time lips meet with someone new, or calling an old friend to ask for help, these moments of vulnerability display our marrow, and all of its associated insecurities and inadequacies. When we ensconse ourselves for our own protection and longevity, in a foolish attempt to protect those vulnerabilities, we miss the point of living.

I'm not advocating ignoring sunscreen or nutritional needs like I have a tendency to do sometimes, although I do find extreme hunger and sunburn to be very vivid reminders of just how delicate we are and how precious each moment should be. And I'm not passing judgement on anyone who takes a safe path through life. I've certainly played it safe in so many ways and I continue to do so. But I am glorifying, with all of the enthusiasm of misguided youth which has long since passed me by, the joy of seeking out that which brings us pain. It feels so incredible to shock the senses, when we reach well beyond what we know we are capable of and fail in brilliant and explosive glory. Pain leads to humility, humility spurs effort and effort seeds growth and accomplishment.

Embrace the pain.

Class

2011-09-29T23:31:00.000-07:00

Today I attempted to "teach" my first yoga "class". I use that verb and noun combo very loosely to describe the confusion and epic #FAIL I put poor Charisa through. However, as hoped, there are some brilliant takeaways from the experience and I am very grateful to have it behind me.

1. I can't possibly suck any worse than I did tonight. Partly because it just doesn't seem possible to be any suckier, and partly because everyone expects to naturally suck a little less each time they do something, after that first initial suckiness. But then again, maybe I have a few more major #FAIL's left to experience. So, whatever, I accept that. At least I know what it feels like now. I expect it. It'll be comfortable failure soon enough.

Contrary to my typical form, the rest of this is all going to be positives. I apologize in advance for being glass-half-full on this one, so not like me...

2. I'm happy enough with my sanskrit. It's not awesome, but it's not horrific. I think it helps that I've started dreaming in sanskrit every other night or so. I still struggle to pronounce Prasarita Padottanasana, love the word prasarita, but that second little sucker is a tongue twister. I'm not ready to attempt Rjakapotasana, but I guess that's why everyone tends to use half pidgeon. I need to dial in a few that I never hear but seem very learnable, like Anjaneyasana and Jathara Parivatanasana. It just seems so ugly-american-esque to use crescent lunge and supine spinal twist all the time. And then there is the whole emphasis on that one letter difference between utanasana and utkatasana, which is especially important since they both tend to follow tadasana. I'm sure there are some good verbal cues to help differentiate.

3. I was completely surprised, even after having to stop a few times and flip through the cheat sheets, that I wound up at 53 ish minutes from start to finish. After watching Rex Grossman give away this week's Monday Night Football game, I just assumed that I'd be horrific on timing myself. But somehow my internal clock seemed to work ok. I stumbled, I screwed up, but I kept plodding along, and I wound up done at just about the right time. So I take that as a small win. Even if I can't say the right words, even if I expect the person on the mat to read my mind, at least I know when it's time to give up and move along. I only missed one side of extended side angle and I think I threw in a couple of unnecessary chaturangas, all of which seems reasonably excusable. Of course I did have my nose inches from paper for 90% of it. Let's just forget for a moment that there was only one student in this "class" and let me pretend to think I actually kept pace.

4. Touching people is just strange. I'm a big fan of receiving a strong adjustment, but it takes a lot of confidence in yourself to give an adjustment, even to a good friend, or maybe especially to a good friend. And yet, the hallmark of a great yoga teacher is knowing exactly how to touch to get the best out of their students. This is one area where Shane completely rules. And I suppose our 1-1's have helped me understand a lot about how to encourage by touch. Some of his adjustments aren't even adjustments. For example, when he sticks his head above mine, while I'm in dead man's pose, and busts out a cheshire cat grin to counter the agony of my grimmace, that's not really an adjustment, it's just Shane being a goofball. But, when he holds his palm just out of reach and tells me to touch it while in twisted crescent lunge, well, that's an example of goal setting at its finest. And then there's the hell he puts me through in twisted trikonasana and that horrific twisted utthita parsvakonasana, where it feels like he has 8 arms and legs and then he actually expects me to be able to vigorously push my hips one way and my knee the other way. I pretty much fail at those every time, even in my dreams. I'm hopping the awkwardness and butterflies of invading someone's personal space can at least recede a bit when it's yoga time. Because adjustments, even light, fingertip adjustments, make a huge difference for me in knowing where to focus. And they cost nothing in terms of word choice. They are intuitive ways to communicate attention and the best teachers know how to use them to extract maximum intensity.

5. Teaching guardasana (eagle) and natarajasana (dancer) is fairly challenging. There is a lot going on with them, and then there's the whole challenge of balancing, and you only have so much time to spout off about whatever you're spouting about. Those are two I should pay special attention to when I observe. Vrksasana seems more straightforward, but I noticed the need to really put the brakes on in the transition between left and right sides and smooth that out.

I think the best takeaway, though, is how much more I respect and admire the teachers who inspire me after walking a mile in their shoes. Being a great teacher is so much more than being a great student. Seing things through their eyes, or through a foggy version of their eyes, has helped me to understand just how unique their gifts are.

Improvement

2011-09-20T13:04:00.001-07:00

It is interesting how much thought I have given to the concept of improvement throughout my life. It started early for me, as a 10 year old playing competitive tennis. Winning was so much better than losing, and rising on the rankings list became an obsession. Inevitable burnout at age 12 lead to a divided focus between water sports and running. High school was all about getting better, both inside the classroom and out on the track or in the pool. Everything was measured, scored and graded and the drive to achieve reverberated throughout my head. The academic fury peaked in college and pushed aside any athletic efforts. I finally re-emerged in the workplace, as if returning to the surface from a ride over a waterfall, and I re-discovered the joy of sport and competition as an alternative to the politically affected perceptions prevalent in the modern workplace.

In so many ways, my desire to compete in sports as an adult has been fueled by the highly subjective systems in control of the corporate world. Success at work does not always come to those who deserve it. I longed for a level playing field, an objective measure of my ability, and a way to concretely identify progress and cleave it from failure. This may sound so horribly black and white, but to the engineering mind, "maybe" might be the worst answer anyone can give.

I have found there is absolutely no substitute for hard work when it comes to making improvement, at least with running, yoga, and tennis. And while I have had rough spells, even rough years, hard work always brought me out of any stagnation. The real joy in hard work is feeling the glitter in those tiny moments of progress along the way, where the distance from the starting point becomes visibly substantial.

Today I did parsva bakasana (side crow) for the first time. It wasn't pretty. It was completely unexpected. I have been working with Shane, an incredible student and teacher himself, and something about how he phrased his instructions today got past my natural filters of what I can and can't do. As my toe left the ground, a smile found its way onto my face and the morning turned into a blur of happiness from there. I think even Shane was a little surprised.

Looking back at my addiction to yoga, I've made it through a solid year of what has become a consistent practice. I have taken a few minor breaks to focus on specific races but I've never given up and I find myself easily re-invigorated when I reach milestones along the way. I remember the feeling of my toes first touching the floor in halasana and so many other gifts along the way. I distinctly remember November 14th 2010 as the day I descended an entire floor deeper into my relationship with my mat. As that day approaches, I feel something special even though the day itself is as arbitrary as any. It's as if I am looking forward to my first birthday as an adult.

The funny thing about hard work is that sometimes it is really hard. There are mornings when I lie awake in bed, 30 minutes prior to Shane's arrival, when I anticipate the pain I will feel from the twists he will ask me to do. I envision the disappointment that will wash over me when my strength gives out, or the shame that will engulf me when he has to use all 4 of his limbs to pry me into shape. I hear his words reminding me to glue my feet to the mat, scissor my hips, squeeze my shoulders together across my back, etc before he even arrives at my house to start. Every time I hear him say "vigorously" I know I should have been giving more on my own, I could have tried harder to start with, and I hate myself for needing him to voice it for me instead of being able to voice it for myself. Those are the low moments. It is so easy to think I am unique, that I am the only one who experiences doubt or fear or shame. And yet, the modest amount of life experience I've had allows me the perspective to assure myself that this is natural. In order to improve, everyone must experience these moments where we question our effort, our intentions, and our dedication.

When it comes to running, 2011 will undoubtedly be the lightest year of racing in a decade. And while I have no legitimate PR's to show for this year, I still feel as if I have improved somehow in my approach to running. Even while getting dropped by my fitter friends I feel a renewed peace to accept that speed may not always be the deciding factor in my love of the sport. Exploring this new dimension of coaching offers me a joy unlike any other I have felt previously, I can now feel another's improvement as if it were somehow part of my own. The beauty of watching someone else run faster, train with more enthusiasm, or simply supporting another human on a life changing decision becomes so very engrossing and addicting. I reach further understanding of how my father must have felt, at roughly the age I am now, while he coached me through those early years of tennis. In addition to the coaching, I've had a few pacing moments this year which were unique and special and I have a few more planned before the year is done. Pacing is like coaching except you skip the entree and go straight for the dessert. It's all glory and reward for only a modicum of effort.

Sometimes in a hot yoga class, when I feel like I'm going to fall over and die, I think of how much easier it would be if I were out for a run. There is a known pain scale with running, one I have become intimate with, and one which I can predict, measure, and ration. Yoga is still new for me, there are still moments where I completely shred myself and have to limp out of class and lie on the ground outside in order to breathe. It is for that very reason, for the potential to improve, that I drive myself forward on my quest.

Racing Heroics

2011-09-15T14:45:00.000-07:00

Mike approved the use of this chat for instructional purposes only...

Say Anything

2011-09-12T12:13:00.000-07:00

I find sometimes it's easy to be myself
Sometimes I find it's better to be somebody else

-- Dave Matthews -- So Much To Say -- 1996

Below is a picture of my phone, displaying a text message I received a couple of weeks ago. Yes, I know I need an iPhone. Yes, I know my palm pixi sucks.

It has brought up all sorts of thoughts and therefore it seems only appropriate that I share some of them on my blog, in an effort to preserve the context of memories which will inevitably fade.

I need to say that I am completely impressed with the brass balls of the person who sent this. Not only do I admire the approach, and even the delivery, I am in awe of the general attitude surrounding this message. It doesn't seem like a big deal to her at all. Putting myself in her shoes, I would have all sorts of ridiculous, insecure thoughts if I had attempted something like this. Yet, in her straightforward world, this text message was a simple matter of using a hammer to drive a nail. Metaphorically speaking of course.

Next, this actually points out some obvious deficiencies with me, and I doubt there is anything I love blogging about more than my own shortcomings. Most guys wouldn't need to be hit over the head with a hammer to figure out that a girl is interested. In this particular situation, although I am not interested in her in a romantic direction (and I tend to doubt that this text message would have swayed me if I were on the fence), I have to admit a bit of surprise at the obvious admission of availability. I may have been able to see some of it brewing, but as with most other situations, I wound up taking the clueless path to surprise rather than actually paying attention and picking up on subtleties along the way.

The fact that I missed out on what others might consider fairly obvious signs of interest is a recurring theme in my life. While I don't want to dive into my recent past for fear of embarrassing myself or anyone else, I do think it might be amusing to share a story from my days in college, a story which has aged sufficiently so as to pose no potential emotional harm to anyone involved.

As a sophomore, I lived with 3 other classmates while a different friend of mine, Blake, drew the room I lived in as a freshman. Blake was a mechanical engineer, I was EE, so we had some overlap in our classes, I think we both had to take differential equations that year and we wound up in the same class and therefore did some of our work together, usually while listening to Phish. The hall he lived on had a mix of freshmen and sophomores whereas the tower I lived in (for a visual, watch A Beautiful Mind) had only sophomores, and while there was one room of girls, they weren't anything resembling fun. Enter Rachel. She was cool, one of the few at school who actually wanted to have fun every now and then. I forget how I met Rachel, but I remember her living near Blake's room, on that same hallway I had lived as a freshman.

Blake

I probably don't even have to color in the background any more than that for the reader to know what happened. Rachel hooked up with Blake and they started dating but apparently she also had some interest in me. My roommates then took it upon themselves to send her an email from my account expressing my undying love and devotion, which opened up an amusing can of worms that caused a bit of drama with my friendship with Blake. Eventually that all settled down, things resumed as normal, life happened, Rachel and Blake broke up, she dated someone else, my class graduated, and we went off to join corporate America.

Sophmore year room with 2 of my roommates, Rachel on the right, back when I had hair

The next year, at reunions, Rachel had just graduated. Reunions is the last huge party for seniors before they pack up for the year, all of the underclassmen have already moved out, making way for returning alumni. Reunions are basically the opposite of AA, a good place to go if you need to get off your sobriety bandwagon. So, after a few drunken encounters with Rachel, the inevitable hookup finally played itself out. I actually remember it as me being drunk, she being just as drunk, her dorm room being very close, and then some guy knocking on her door and interrupting things before they really got started, at which point I fell asleep. I forget the rest of the details, I seem to remember that there was an actual legitimate hookup at some point, but I'm not sure when it happened, it clearly wasn't memorable.

Anyway, the point of all this is that I am probably guilty of both over-thinking and under-thinking my choices for relationships. As I age, it certainly seems to exacerbate the problem. And as I take a few moments to step outside myself and observe my thoughts and actions, I find all of this fascinating and utterly hilarious. Perhaps that is how it is meant to be?

Power

2011-09-08T16:38:00.000-07:00

She started a blaze from one tiny spark
I didn't even detect
She loved the light, was dismayed by the dark
The stars, though, she seemed to respect

Anastasio / Marshall -- Pebbles and Marbles -- 2002

The power went out in SD a little while ago, apparently county-wide. With a bit of foresight I could have a functional database on my laptop and still be working on my current project, even in the dark, at least until my laptop battery runs down. But, being the gambler that I am, I didn't ever anticipate an extended power outage, so I find myself somewhat lacking in terms of complete occupational self sufficiency. Instead, as the UPS's beep away around me, now seems like the perfect opportunity for a late afternoon blog.

Power, watts, energy. What a great topic, what inspiring words. I feel the immense power of nature when I am in the ocean and when I am in the mountains. This world is so much bigger than I am, the differences of scale are staggering and difficult to comprehend. But power comes in all sorts of flavors. And while I find most of them fascinating, I'm not heading for a shotgun approach to this blog. Instead, allow me to take out the sniper rifle and aim squarely at one specific definition of power.

Girl power.

What exactly is it about women that brings us men (if we are allowed to call ourselves men) to our knees? What makes some women captivating to some of us while others are not? How are some women so strong when they don't swear or shout? Why is it that the strongest of men are so frequently conquered by the softest of women? And why does it seem that we men make so many questionable decisions when we are engaged by the opposite sex in some form of heartbreak warfare? We are supposed to be the rational ones, right? And yet there is a constant desire for the irrational moments in all of us, one which we either choose to act on and periodically ridicule ourselves, or which we squelch and hide in our darkest corners such that we don't become distracted or confused from our goals of conquering.

I'm not sure I can really explain it. But I'll start with a few likes and dislikes and see where I end up.

I am attracted to powerful women. That much is clear. And yet, I'm also turned off by a number of things that powerful women tend to like and do, which makes for an interesting dilemma and much disillusionment. While I'm obviously not representative of the collective male consciousness in any way, and while I actually consider myself a total outlier when it comes to preferences about women, I feel like I'm allowed to self indulge a bit given that this is, after all, my own blog.

I hate fake boobs. Hate them. With a passion. That doesn't mean I hate anyone who has fake boobs, as it's most definitely a correctable offense. And I do see the merit in reconstructive surgery for victims of breast cancer, bot those aren't the fake boobs I'm speaking of. The recent trend of every 15 year old getting fakies for her birthday makes me nauseous. I do realize that bigger boobs == more guy attention == more confidence. And I am definitely attracted to confidence when it is genuine and not a mask for insecurity. But it just annoys me to take shortcuts by adding to your curves. I tend to have the opposite reaction to fake boobs, they act as a beacon of insecurity and lack of self respect. Why can't we admire our bodies the way they are, they way they have evolved, the way they were meant to be? Why do we think we know better? It's audacious to supplant silicone or saline purely to enhance our form. So, I applaude women who have managed to sit this trend out. I applaud anyone who finds happiness in the positives of their body without dwelling on the negatives. I know there are things I dislike about my own shell, but every time I hit a new yoga pose just a bit more than I ever have before, I gain additional appreciation for the strength and flexibility I do have, no matter how insignificant they might seem in comparison to anyone else's.

I hate makeup. Granted I realize it has a place. Photographs, particularly wedding photographs, tend to look better with some makeup. It brightens and it accentuates. So, I only kind-of hate makeup, I don't hate it with a passion. I wish it were controlled a bit more. I wish it were less prevalent. I think there is a decent trend away from overuse of makeup and that I do like. We boys, we don't get to cover up our blemishes, or if we do, you better believe our bros will roast us for it. So, yes, some powerful women tend to cling to makeup, but for me, it's a turn-off. Be strong without the mask and I'll admire you, but lean on that crutch too much and one day it'll snap.

Initiative is a gigantic turn on for me. I love women who take the bull by the horns and go for it, even if they don't fully understand exactly what they are doing. We are all so sheltered these days, so restricted, so controlled, that I find myself constantly thinking "is this going to upset anyone" before taking action. A little bit more of the wild wild west might be a good thing for many of us. How does this manifest? Well, when it comes to dating, or even just interacting, I have tremendous respect for a woman who can do her part to keep the ball rolling. Contribute to the conversation instead of sitting back and waiting to be spoon-fed questions. Take part in the scheduling. I I understand nervousness, heck, we men deal with it all the time. But you don't gain points by keeping your thoughts to yourself, you just wind up wasting time by your omissions and reservations. Powerful women are willing, able, and confident to express their opinions. That doesn't mean you have to shove those thoughts or beliefs down anyone's throat. But powerful women have beliefs, they have thoughts, and any man worth his salt wants to hear them. Contribute. Be present. And we men will fall at your feet and worship you.

Cleanliness is a very interesting topic for me, having shared time with many extremely neat people and also with a few who have less interest in obsessive organization. I do believe that powerful women are not disorganized. I'm a rare bird who notices not only who does the dishes every time I'm at a dinner party, but also how they wash said dishes. There are so many subtle clues to pick up on the first time you enter someone else's living space. I remember how my sister used to clean up her room by shoving all the clothes and books that were on the floor into her closet and closing the door. That type of behavior is visible in many ways, covering up the obvious mess doesn't hide anything to the intrepid observer. I'm happy to report that my sister no longer takes these shortcuts, with 3 toddlers she doesn't have that option anymore :) Regardless, this seems one of the easiest things for all of us to work on, something we can make incremental progress with every time we try. I'm a firm believer that the more organized, and put-away that we are, the easier and smoother our lives become. However, I also see the slippery slope of obsessive compulsion and I realize there are times when everything is "good enough". I've even been able to leave a suitcase unpacked or the laundry un-folded for 24 hours or more a few times this summer, a rare accomplishment that I'm quite proud of.

Toughness might be the hallmark for me. If there's one recurring theme among the women I am most amazed by, both friends and more-than-friends, it's a degree of toughness that rises above the average. Some men really like a dependent woman who will throw up her hands and ask for help, but I can't help but gaze in wonder at women who don't need help. Sure, we are all weak, we will all die, and we'd all (well, most of us at least) like to be comforted when our time comes to depart this existence. But in the meantime, how about a little bit of toughness to inspire those around you? I know there are times when I'm tired and sore and don't want to bust out another workout, but usually I suck it up. There are races where I stand at the start line and wonder where I'm going to muster up the the will to perform at a respectable level. Toughness is all about conquering that doubt and rising from your own ashes every chance you get and enjoying that inner turmoil. Toughness is a lot like double-or-nothing betting, each time you win you feel only marginally satisfied, but one loss can easily take you back to zero.

The corollary to toughness is humility, and to have both is rare indeed. Humility because life isn't all about us, and sometimes the others in our lives need a hand held or a shoulder to lean on. Humility is one of the easiest qualities to find in women, but in powerful women it can be a little bit more elusive. Knowing when to wear the leader hat and when to wear the follower hat is the most delicate seesaw dance we do. To be an effective leader is to demonstrate your power, to be an effective follower is to manifest and internalize your power. From an alternative perspective, nothing is a bigger turn off for an otherwise powerful woman than a lack of humility. Think of Demi Moore's character in Indecent Proposal for an example of power without humility turns sour.

It's interesting to note that I didn't mention sensitivity, empathy, kindness, manners, or cheerfulness. I do like all of those attributes, but I think they relate more to the scale of awesomeness than the scale of powerful.

Hmm, this turned into a rant/rave about women more than a discussion of power, didn't it? Perhaps I should yin my yang a bit and talk about what I like and dislike about my guy friends next...

A Love Story -- Mike and Sarah's wedding

2011-09-03T15:14:00.000-07:00

Below is a video Mike's sister, Sarah Buchanan #1, made about Mike and Sarah's courtship. I crack up every time I watch it, partly because of all the subtle (and gentle) digs at Mike and partly because the acting is so adorable, these kids are true gems.

Here's my favorite photo from the wedding.

Here are the rest of my photos from the wedding.

Stones

2011-08-31T11:25:00.000-07:00

"The only thing better than getting what you want is not getting what you want."

In racing terms, this concept is at the heart of desire and motivation because satisfaction comes, ironically, from not getting what you want. Satisfaction comes from trying harder. Satisfaction comes from struggle. Satisfaction does not come from reward or achievement, these are the end goals that satisfaction chases. Just like Road Runner and Wiley Coyote, the elusive, endless chase is what drives each and every one of us, in life, in sport and in love. When you hit your mark, the natural tendency is to become complacent. When you set the mark high enough that you don't frequently hit that s, you become an aggressive animal.

Where am I going with this? Well, let's first recap how this weekend went for some of my friends and friends of friends. The results are listed in general order of awesomeness.

1. Rod won CC100 and set a new course record.
2. Chris McDonald win Ironman Louisville for the 2nd time.
3. Maik won rev 3, got paid, bought a swifter, and is happily swifting.
4. Meredith Kessler got 3rd at Ironman Canada in 95 degree heat in her attempt for a repeat victory.
5. Hillary held on for 7th at Ironman Louisville despite a run that wasn't quite up to her exacting standards.
6. I tore my right calf 1 mile into my 4 mile first leg at Hood to Coast, but managed to hold predicted pace on legs 1 and 2 (based on gamin) and beat pace on leg 3 with a modified stride and by re-acquainting myself with my inner beast.
7. Our Hood to Coast team squeaked out a division win and 11th place with some strong performances and an average team age that might have been pretty close to 40.
8. Alyssa had a very strong swim and bike followed by somewhat of a lackluster run.
9. Krissy recorded her 2nd ever DNF in what sounds like the worst conditions imaginable at UTMB.

Now, on to my hypothesis. I have had major sucky periods twice in the past 12 months, so I am quite familiar with them. The first big sucky period came after my PR's at the AFC half and Chicago marathon last year. Once I hit those marks, marks that exceeded any long term goals I had ever imagined, I fell into a massive slump. It wasn't like I was dead or done racing, and certainly not training, but I was aimlessly drifting between work, yoga, eating, and sleeping in. I had no drive, no hunger, and zero intensity. It's OK to have downtime, but 3-4 months got the better of me. Western States and Krissy's coaching finally got me out of that funk and the work I did in the spring of this year was pretty special, particularly a few notable training days that exceeded my expectations of what I can expect of myself.

The second sucky period is my post-western-states funk that I'm still in the middle of, hopefully nearing the end. To be honest, I'm not entirely satisfied with western states, especially the severe butt kicking I took from many of my peers. There's nothing too awesome about a 22 hour 100. But my goal was sub 24 and my realistic expectation of a good result was right around 22, so in terms of where I was and what I felt ready to do, 22 was a success. Not a home run, but at least a solid base hit. And after a success, well, I hit a slump because there was no longer any angst to drive me. I do have some races to keep me busy through the end of the year, but nothing important, and therefore I am allowing myself to slack off. In this manner, achievement is the death of my own satisfaction.

Now, let's take a look at Rod. He hit his 3rd 2nd place finish at SD100 two weeks before western states and he wasn't fully satisfied with that. He wanted to win something and missing his mark fired him up even more. He was already supremely fit, but he took it to an entirely new level, busting out 38 miles with me only 2 weeks after his 100, and rolling all of that motivation and drive into his course record this weekend. He became an animal, a machine, an unstoppable force. I'm not remotely surprised to read his blog and hear that he is seemingly a little unsatisfied with how he feels after hitting the mark. It's not a letdown to get what you want, but it is a bit sad to turn the page on an intense period of motivation and feel the end of that addictive wave of euphoria that comes from being in the best shape of your life.

Next, let's look at Maik and Chris. Both were winners against competitive fields, both rose to the challenges of the day, and both achieved the ultimate goal of any pro triathlete, finish ahead of everyone else. From my limited reading, it sounds like both of these two are happy with the results, but I suspect they are already planning their next race, already focused on the future, because what's done is done, and satisfaction lies only in what isn't done.

Now, on to the ladies, who had varying degrees of success this weekend. Those who I've talked to (everyone but Krissy) seem fired up for their next races. In fact, Hillary seems extremely amped and Alyssa isn't far behind. Meredith sounds a bit more even keel, but just as motivated. I have to believe Krissy is going to be dangerous the next time she toes the line.

Which pool would I rather be swimming in? Rod/Maik/Chris or Meredith/Hillary/Allyssa/Krissy? Clearly my best racing has come from the zones that the girls are in right now, and my worst funks have followed the small successes I've had (which obviously don't compare to what Rod/Maik/Chris have achieved in any way other than how I feel about them). I especially liked reading about how Chris felt about his racing prior to Louisville as it seemed to build into a fire that he was able to harness this weekend.

So, I'm looking forward to seeing what the girls are able to produce over the next 6 months. And I sure hope the boys can leverage their success by setting new goals and riding the next wave, which is something I've seemed to struggle with lately. I'm a little curious about myself too, although with the bum knee and now a totally wrecked calf, I think I'm stuck playing a bit of a waiting game for a while. It was very refreshing to get to feel that edge again over the weekend, an edge I hadn't felt for a while, but I paid a bit of a price for not putting in proper preparation.

In a strange, twisted, sadistic sort of way, I'm really happy that I injured myself. I'm happy that I'm starting to get hungry again. I'm happy to have cleared my short term memory of accomplishments. I'm excited to fail, to not get what I want, and to grow that burning desire for more.