Coming to a store near you...

I was watching TV a few weeks ago, when I noticed one of those Gatorade commercials where the athletes are bent over, with colored sweat dripping profusely off their mono-chromatic frames. And it hit me like the bolt of lightning on the Gatorade logo...

Gatorade Sweat (tm)

Why not market a drink as an exact replacement for what you've lost?! That's essentially what they're saying with their fancy commercials: "This is the stuff that your stinky clothes are soaked in when you finish working out."

"Honey, can you pass me a tall glass of Sweat please?"

I think it's hip and clever. My roommate thinks it's gross. What do you think?

Who's Afraid of the Dark?

I was lying in bed a few nights ago--trying to get to sleep with all the ambient light from the street flooding my room--when I remembered something that I had totally forgotten about my childhood.

My night light.

I remember needing a small light on top of my dresser to calm my fears while trying to get to sleep. This seems strange to think about now, because I really prefer to have the room completely pitch black now. (I even cover my alarm clock readout with cardboard so it doesn't stare me in the face all night.) But back then, there was something calming about being able to see what is or isn't sneaking up on you while you lie unprotected in your bed.

But was it really all that helpful? I seem to recall that the same light that was supposed to be comforting was actually casting all of those menacing shadows across the room. I seriously wonder now if the same light that was banishing the monsters in my room to the shadows was actually causing all the problems in the first place.

I can't remember when I actually stopped using a night light--whether I decided it was unnecessary because I didn't believe in monsters or (more likely) I was just getting old enough to be embarrassed that I used one. Either way, it's strange how you can totally forget something like that....

Swimming Against the Current

I'm frustrated with my progress in dancing lately.

This has been a busy semester, and I simply cannot afford to practice or attend all of the dance team coaching session that I have access to. This is a choice I make, and I do it because I value other things more than dancing, but I get frustrated when I don't see any progress. My dance partner and I did fairly well in our most recent competition, but it seems the results are always the same--people that place higher than us move on to more competitive levels, and those we beat last semester are taking their place above us at this level.

Developing dance technique and skill is like swimming upstream--you have to work hard to make significant progress, and minimal or moderate effort will allow you to stay where you are, but if you do nothing, you're only going to move backwards. As a reformed perfectionist, this is frustrating; there is no end of improvement that can be made.

I don't aspire to be a professional dancer, but I don't think I can be satisfied never progressing past where I am now. The more experienced dancers and instructors I talk to have tried to talk me down from the ledge by encouraging me that I am improving and that you don't really regress as much as you think you do, but that's of little comfort now. And I do realize and agree that our placement in a competition is not a pure measure of how well we dance--it's amazing how much subjective value and luck factor in. But this week it's been tough to decide what a reasonable goal is going forward.

Why I Hate Bob Barker

Allow me to introduce you to Herman...

Herman is my aunt Sharry's dog, a beagle-something mix with the BEST PERSONALITY of any dog you'll find. Herman plays nice with other dogs, barks only when there's a real reason to, and likes taking rides--like this one we were preparing to take to downtown Swansboro.

Herman will lay in your lap and let you pet him for hours, and he absolutely loves the attention. If your hand is dangling from the arm of your chair, he's not above walking under it and nudging you to get you to pet him. No other dog has ever made me feel more welcome or wanted. He's always been pretty mellow, and he's even more so as he gets older. (He's 13, but you'd never guess it by how well he gets along.) Herman's nose is a bit crooked, which gives him this hilarious face when he looks straight at you. His muzzle is turning a distinguished white with age...

My aunt got Herman from a friend who'd found him wandering her neighborhood with a leash but no collar. When a month-long search failed to turn up his owner, Sharry agreed to take him. She tells that when she went to pick him up, she opened the truck door and he hopped in like he was right at home--and he has had the run of her place ever sense. He was housebroken from Day One.

Here's the bad news that it pains my aunt to recall: In her own words--"I was so brainwashed by Bob Barker and his 'Spay and Neuter your Pets' campaign that I didn't even think about how great it would be to have little Hermans running around. It's a shame, because he's the perfect dog." If a little Herman puppy had even half of his good nature it would be worth its weight in gold.

I guess we'll just have to enjoy every day we have with him and take every opportunity to spoil him while we can....

My 34th Year Begins...

As my friend Barrett pointed out in one of his entries a few months ago, I like to set a theme for each year on my birthday. I find this is more personal and motivating than a New Year's Resolution. My rule is that it must be specific and measurable, and it must be something that I can continue past the year. The idea is to spend a year focused on developing a new character trait/lifestyle item, then benefit from it the rest of my life.

I started this on my 30th Birthday (for Year 31), so the complete list so far is as follows:
Year 31: Lose weight & exercise. I weighed over 200 lbs when I turned 30, but by my 31st birthday I was down to 153. I'm still running and dancing to stay in shape, and I just finished my first marathon.
Year 32: Become a Reader. I've always admired people who find time to read, so this was my attempt to become someone who recognized that there were a lot of smart people out there writing their thoughts down, and I could benefit from hearing them.
Year 33: Learn to manage unending projects. I tend to get overwhelmed when faced with lots of these little things you always want to do but can't seem to get around to it or can't finish them in a few hours/days. This year has been about developing a lifestyle and attitude that allows me to document, prioritize, and slowly work through these things.

So this brings me to Year 34. In many ways this has been a defining year for me; I've experienced a new level of peace and self-acceptance in my spiritual journey, completed my first marathon, and begun to make the most out of my friendships by getting past surface-y conversations so I can really know, understand, and relate to my friends on a new level. I've considered many options for personal growth, but after weighing them all, I've decided....

Year 34: Become a person who faces each day head-on. I tend get busy with projects late in the evening, stay up late, get to bed after midnight, and wake up late for work. Typically this puts me on my heels and makes me feel like I've backed into the day. Many people I respect and have patterned my life after are early-risers that get up before everyone else, have time to center themselves on what is important to them, and enter the day in a positive state-of-mind.

Wish me luck....

No Day at the Beach

I was visiting family in Cape Carteret, NC a few weeks ago, and on October 9--the second day of my vacation--I spent several hours on the public access beach on Emerald Isle.

I've always been intimidated by the ocean, having heard of rip currents and all the nasty jellyfish and stingray stories, but I decided to swim a bit, read, and layout in the sun. I made a few read-swim-sunbathe/dry cycles before digging into my packed lunch and settling into my beach chair to work on a book I'd been wanting to finish.

At about 3 pm I was sitting in my borrowed beach chair reading when I heard shouting from someone swimming off to my right, not too far from shore. Some teenagers had been goofing around earlier that day, and I recall thinking I wished they'd stop yelling back and forth to one another as it was becoming distracting. Soon after that I realized that the person yelling was becoming more and more agitated. I looked up and noticed that he was getting others' attention as well.

It was then that I looked further out and noticed a smaller head bobbing in the water much further out. I then realized the person yelling was trying to get help for the person pulled out by the rip current. By this time, several others began to rush into the water, and a few people already in the water began swimming out to the person in trouble. I remember hearing someone call back to the house behind us, "Call 911."

It was at this point that I looked out and saw what I believed to be two fins sticking out of the water, moving toward the person in trouble.

This all seemed so not-real to me. It didn't occur to me when the person was yelling, "Call 911" that I actually held my cell phone in my hand (I had just been checking to see what time it was before all of this had caught my attention). It never occurred to me that it was even a phone, or that I could call for help. I sat there holding the umbrella in place (the wind was picking up, so it kept falling over), with my book and phone in my hand, watching this all play out and not moving to do anything. Truthfully, I'm not a great swimmer, and there were people both helping in the water and calling for help, so there was nothing I COULD have done, but looking back I think it just didn't register that what I was seeing was real. I always thought I'd be someone who would do something when an emergency arose, but that didn't happen.

At this point, a boat of fishermen was passing by, and several swimmers were waving for the boat to come and help the person in distress. At this point I wasn't sure if he had been bitten by a shark or what, but I was amazed that the fishermen seemed to understood they were needed and adjusted course to come in and pick up the injured person; after all, I didn't realize what was going on, and I was closer to the action. After what seemed like an eternity of what I can only describe as the fishermen 'fishing' in the water to pull something out, the boat turned and headed to shore off to my left, no more than 200 feet away.

When it reached shore, a group of a dozen or more swimmers converged on the boat, and I saw a young woman jump into the boat and begin what looked like CPR compressions. By this time, the first sirens could be heard coming up the beach, and some volunteer lifeguard-type people (the beach of course had no lifeguards on duty) showed up, talking into their radios. Soon a Rescue truck with a Seadoo on a trailer arrived, and they pulled the person from the boat on a backboard and began to work on him on the far side of the truck beyond my view.

The activity continued for another 15 minutes or so, with a flurry of activity at the truck and another group of people around the fishermen's boat, trying to help them bail the water out and get it back out to sea while being buffeted by waves. I saw someone obviously connected personally (mother?, grandmother?, aunt?) to the person in distress being told by bystanders where she could go to meet up with the ambulance. Many people were milling around, not sure what to do. Several people packed up their gear and headed off the beach. I sat holding the umbrella....

Finally I saw an IV being held high, and rescue workers recruiting men to help carry the person on the backboard off the beach. I'd assumed it was a young person, but it was then clear the person being helped was a heavyset older man. I then realized the woman I'd seen must have been his wife. A woman who'd had a blanket set out next to mine came walking back to me from the truck, and I asked what had happened. She just said, "He drowned. All of that is to put the folks watching at ease...he's gone." I sat for a few minutes, but eventually just packed up my stuff and headed home.

Turns out there was no shark; the 'fins' must have just been waves that reflected the light strangely combined with an overactive imagination. The next morning the newspaper told the story of a 60-year old man who drowned while saving his wife. She had gotten caught in a rip current, and he was somehow able to get out to her and get her to safety, but in the process overexerted himself and wasn't able to make it in.

I'd never seen anyone die before my eyes like that. The whole thing played out in front of me, and it took less than 40 minutes for things to go from lighthearted vacation to the sobering reality of how easily we pass from this life to the next. I think I can truthfully say that I'm not concerned for myself; I know what will happen to me when I leave this life. But I think I'm more resolved to spend my life living in the reality that at any moment, someone could pass from this earth right before my eyes...

Not a Complete Failure...

Saturday I completed the 12th Annual Indianapolis Marathon--my first full-length marathon, a goal I set after completing the 13.1 mile half (mini) marathon that was part of the Kentucky Derby Festival in April. After 16 weeks and over 394 training miles, I crossed the start line at 8:47 AM.

I had a few goals for this race:

• Manage hydration to avoid costly bathroom stops along the way
• Run the entire length without stopping, even if it required me to slow down.
• Shoot for a 3:40:00 finishing time, the Boston Marathon qualifying time for me as a 32-yr old man.

Here's how the race unfolded:

Equipment issues
I had a brief scare while warming up, as the buckle on my running pack wouldn't fully close at the tension I needed to hold my water bottle in place. It had never done this before (or at least I'd never noticed it before), but I was afraid I might actually lose my pack during the race. I played around with lashing the two ends of the buckle together with some wire I found in a parking lot, but decided against it in case the buckle did break; I wanted to be able to pitch it aside rather than have it dangle half-attached to my waste. I finally figured out how get it to latch completely which put me at ease a bit.

The Pack Mentality
In order to achieve my 3:40:00 goal, I needed to average 8:22 miles, so I programmed my Garmin Forerunner 205 to help me maintain this pace. However, I noticed a trend in my first few miles:

Mile 1: 8:12
Mile 2: 7:58
Mile 3: 8:04
Mile 4: 8:02
Mile 5: 7:58
Mile 6: 7:54
Mile 7: 7:59
Mile 8: 8:05

Now you might ask, "How is an 8:00 pace going to help you achieve your goal?" That's the problem. I committed the cardinal marathon sin: THOU SHALT NOT START OUT TOO FAST.

I blame this on the Pack Mentality that requires men to stay with those around rather than letting them pass by. Mom always said be careful what crowd you run with...it can get you in trouble.

Answered Prayer
A 15 minute delay in starting may not seem like a big deal, but when you've planned and timed your last drink of water and bathroom break so you'll be comfortable for the race, it can really throw you off. About 3 minutes before we started, I realized I was in need of relief.

I kept my eyes out to notice if any of the Port-O-Lets were empty along the way, but they seemed to be more spaced out than I remembered from the map...or perhaps my memory was influenced by the urgency of my situation. At Mile 5 we passed two Port-O-Lets that were on the other side of the road--the path we'd take back and pass after Mile 8. I decided if other opportunities didn't come up, I'd make a dash for them as we came back around. As it turns out, I saw BOTH empty just as I ran up to them on the trip back, so I ducked in and made a fairly efficient "pit stop". My Mile 9 time reflects this delay.

Mile 9: 8:25
Mile 10: 8:02
Mile 11: 8:18
Mile 12: 8:13

Two Paths Diverged...
I remember hearing someone at the KDF in April saying when he'd run the KDF Marathon the year before, someone running next to him around mile 13 had said, "Get ready to get lonely..." Just after that, 95% of the field took the mini-marathon turn, and he was running all alone. That conversation came to mind when we hit the split at 12.5 miles; it really was like stepping into an entirely different environment. There were more people lined on either side of the marathon route cheering--at first, but there were very few runners left. After a few hundred feet, there was hardly anything to show that you weren't just out running by yourself. It was really psychologically challenging, because no longer could you just chug along beside whoever was next to you; it was up to you to keep up the pace.

A New PR
I ran the KDF mini in 1:56:00--an 8:51 pace--so when I crossed the sign that said we were officially half-way there, I noticed my average pace was 8:11. Woo-hoo!

Mile 13: 8:13 -- ~8:11 pace for mini-marathon

Loops Are Soooo Much Better
If you look at the course map, you'll noticed that miles 14 through 24 are essentially a long, winding out-and-back route.

I cannot over-emphasize how much this totally sucked.

I'll admit that it was sometimes neat to see runners coming back the other way, but for the most part the experience was discouraging; every step you took meant you were piling up steps you'd have to take to come back. Around every turn you'd hope to see the turn around, but when you didn't you had to mentally prepare to re-trace this upcoming leg at some point....

Mile 14: 8:20
Mile 15: 8:21
Mile 16: 8:32

Houston, We Have A Problem...
At this point, I realize I'm in trouble. I'm experiencing what Michael Wilbon would call "mental weakness" as I struggle to keep up the pace I've established. My quads began to cramp, and I begin to take more and more electrolytes... I tried to keep up a pace that would allow me to slowly use up the time my fast pace has bought me.

Mile 17: 8:42
Mile 18: 9:03
Mile 19: 9:55

At this point, the 3:40 pace officially passed me by. I decided it was time to re-group and shoot for a four-hour finishing time, which had been my original goal following my 2-hour mini-marathon goal. I spent the rest of the race running as far as I could before cramps and pain in my left knee made me stop to walk, all the while very conscious that I was going to be very close to the four-hour mark.

Mile 20: 9:57
Mile 21: 10:19
Mile 22: 11:07
Mile 23 : 11:51
Mile 24: 10:20
Mile 25: 11:15
Mile 26( + .22): 9:26 pace

The End is Near
Shortly after passing the Mile 26 marker, my Garmin 'finished' the marathon; I had noticed that it was showing the miles roughly 50 feet shorter than the course mile markers, and that adds up to a quarter mile during the whole race. The folks on both sides of the finish line were really great, calling out numbers, cheering us on, and reminding us that four-hours was still in reach.

I rounded the corner and came to the home stretch, resolving to run the remaining distance no matter what. I finished in 3:57:55, which I found out later placed me 327th out of 1058.

There wasn't a huge crowd past the finish line--most of the mini-marathoners were either at the post-race cookout tent or had left the race site. There were volunteers giving everyone their "finisher" medals. I grabbed some water, Gatorade, and a banana, and sat down on the curb....

... and cried like a baby.

I hadn't expected to be so emotional at the end, but it makes sense looking back. I was a little disappointed, very relieved it was over, and totally spent physically. I had to sit for several minutes before I could get up and move around enough to get to the tent for some food.

Conclusion?
Overall, it was a great experience. I learned a lot about myself through the whole process, and I accomplished another life-goal. Now I have to decide if I want to build on this, try again for 3:40:00. There's a big difference between saying "I've run a marathon" versus "I've run marathons"...

Update: I've since found out that 3:40 is the qualifying time for women my age. I'd have more luck changing my Y chromosomes to Xs than completing in the 3:10 qualifying time for men my age.

Rules for Aging Rock Stars

I've had an ongoing project to listen through all of my music collection over the next few years (which is much easier now that I have an iPod that holds it all), and while listening yesterday a few thoughts came to me regarding "Greatest Hits" albums:

1. Never publish a "Greatest Hits" album while you're still actively recording. It would seem this is common sense--since only time and distance will tell what your biggest hits are--but few artists seem to follow this principle. Also, since we often don't know when we've peaked and should pack it in, the corollary would be...
1a. Never publish a "Greatest Hits" album while you're alive.

2. Never--under any circumstances--should there be a "Greatest Hits--Volume II". By definition, these are not greatest hits--just the best of what's left.

3. No more than three songs from any given album should be on a "Greatest Hits" collection. If your career doesn't support the four or five albums that would be required to fill a standard-length CD, feel free to save us time and money by producing an "EP".

4. A "Greatest Hits" album is not a vehicle for new content. Don't force us to listen to your new stuff while re-living the past, and don't force us to buy your old stuff if we want the latest single.

It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday...

This month marks the end of an era.

After nursing my Emerson 19" TV along for the past year (I'm pretty sure the 'red' gun went out over a year ago, leaving the picture dark and a bit blue...) it was time to face the facts: She wasn't getting any younger... and there's only so much you can do with 'brightness' and 'contrast'.

Built by the good folks in Taiwan in July 1998, this TV was the Christmas gift that kept on giving. She's cable ready (up to channel 39) and wireless (provided you have a universal remote...the original died a decade ago). The control door broke off during on one of my undergraduate residence hall moves, but if you didn't fiddle with it too much it would stay in place, although slightly ajar.

A story I'm fond of telling (forgive me if you've heard it before) is when I moved into an apartment during grad school and had the local cable guys come to connect the cable and internet. While Internet Guy was in the bedroom working on the computer, Cable Guy turned on the TV to check the picture quality. "Wow. That's some picture, " Cable Guy remarked. A few minutes later, Internet Guy walked into the room to talk something over with Cable Guy and --I kid you not--stopped mid-sentence and remarked, "Wow. That's some picture." They just don't make TVs like this anymore.

While still OK for day-to-day viewing, when the Superbowl came around, we demoted my Emerson to the kitchen and moved my roommate's Philips Magnavox into the living room. A few weeks later, I found myself wishing I could change channels without getting out of my chair, so I pulled my old 13" TV/VCR combo from the closet and demoted Emerson from Kitchen TV to surplus. The picture above marks this sad occasion.

The silver lining in this story is that Emerson is now in the hands of some Indian graduate-student friends who have welcomed her into their family. Here's hoping she has many more years ahead of her...

Update: I think I can, I think I can...

I finally got a reply from my letter to Seneca Foods. I'm not very satisfied with it; it seems there's some confusion regarding to whom it should be addressed--I sent my e-mail to consumer_affairs@senecafoods.com, so I'm a bit confused by the response:

Thank you for your comments on the vegetable cans. Seneca Foods makes their own cans. Your comments will be forwarded to the correct department. Seneca Foods sold the Juice Division in Dec. 1998.

Seneca Foods Consumer Affairs

Anyway...at least my voice was heard....

I'll try to keep everyone posted.

Open Letter to Seneca Foods

To Whom It May Concern:

First of all, let me congratulate Seneca Foods Corporation for your success in growing your company from a simple, niche provider of Concord grape juice into an independent, publicly traded food processing company over your 50+ years of existence. Such growth does not occur without the ability to notice deficiencies in your operation and improve where others fail to do so; however, I would like to point out an area where I think there is room for improvement--namely, the packaging of your Stokely's brand "Cut Green Beans".

I've just returned from my local Wal-Mart with five cans of this product and have come to the conclusion--after literally minutes of trying and dozens of attempts--that there is simply no way to stack these cans on top of one another. Since I live in an apartment with relatively little shelf space, the ability to make stacks of height greater than one is one of life's small, taken-for-granted pleasures that make my otherwise chaotic life seem somewhat ordered.

This outcome is surprising, as it seems in most all other areas of life the providers of products I use every day seem to have discovered a way to bevel the bottom of their cans such that each nestles snugly into the top of the can below it. Not to draw unfair comparisons, but I can stack cans of Campbell's soup well over six cans high with alarming stability.

I am a cost-conscious consumer, and I admit that I first found your "Cut Green Beans" when I noticed the value of your product was superior--your beans seemed as green and well-cut as other products but at a lower price. However, I am seriously wrestling with the idea of moving to a top-shelf green bean if it saves me time and emotional frustration when putting my groceries away. There are some things in life that are simply worth the extra expense.

Thank you for your time and attention to this matter. I trust this feedback will be taken into account in future packaging decisions, and I look forward to your response.

Sincerely,

(et cetera)