Day 160: Warriors Who Flock Together . . .

I've been running three times a week and working out on the off days since January pretty much for two reasons. The first is I'm 44 years old and I have a four-year-old daughter. Keeping up with her was getting harder and harder. I was quickly reaching the point where I realized that if I didn't do something to strengthen my endurance, I wasn't going to be able to be the kind of dad I want to be. The kind of dad that plays with his kids when they want to play. Who isn't too tired after work to go to the park. Who isn't too tired by the end of the day that he couldn't still do the things he wanted to do for himself. The second reason I've been working out since January is the Warrior Dash, a 3 mile and change run that mixes in 12 obstacles along the way. In no way was I ready to tackle the challenge in January, but I knew dangling it out there in front of me would get my every-broadening gut and butt off the couch and into gear. And so from January until today, that's exactly what I've done. Today was the payoff. 

The Warrior Dash is an event in every sense of the word. It's a national event, in that it's held in numerous states. The Nebraska version reportedly attracted 23,000 people over Saturday and Sunday. It's a fun event. There's a festival like feel to the grounds, complete with giant stage and band, food, drinks, people of all sorts of flavors and ages, sunshine, and a good all around vibe. It's a personal event in that it's very much a mental and physical challenge beginning with the half mile run to start that goes straight up a steep hill on through the waist-high trudge through a pond full of mud and muck and finishing with a couple of jumps over fire. Once conquered, the Warrior Dash is a monumental event in that the sense of accomplishment is undeniable and something that can't be taken away from you. 

Today, I learned a little bit about myself. I learned that there are times when I really want to quit. I just want to pack everything in, take my proverbial ball and go home, find a nice comfy place on the couch and never leave it. But I learned there something residing somewhere deep inside me that is stronger than that desire to quit. I just have to find it and let it out. Today, I was gassed. Exhausted. Fatigued. Mentally and physically shot. But yet I keep taking another step. I learned you can always take one more step if you want to. Doesn't how matter how quickly you take it, but you can take it if there desire is there. Maybe it was the 61-year-old lady climbing along the rope in front of me that inspired me. Maybe it was the older men who ran like teenagers. Maybe it was seeing the finish line off in the distance. Maybe it was just the fact I didn't want to fail. I also learned that it sure the hell helps if you have someone by your side whispering in your ear, "Dude, you can do it." 

Man, I have to say thanks to those dudes who took the challenge with me and helped me today. Each finished. Each ran his ass off. Each was in high spirits afterward, as he should have been. Each pushed me along the trail, even when they didn't realize it. Much appreciation for the inspiration. 

What a day. What a positive experience. What a great culmination to months of hard work and a great gateway toward more great events ahead. 

Thanks Daryl, Tom, Randy, Steve, Chris, and Tim. 

Day 159: Moved To Tears (Almost)

To be honest, I started writing today’s entry on a subject that had a completely smart-assed tone about it. Sarcastic and snarky and probably even a bit degrading, and all really for no particularly good reason other than I haven’t been in a really good mood today and I was making myself feel better by demeaning others. Really, what I was writing wasn’t worth the time I was spending on it, and it wouldn’t have progressed me or anyone else in the least.

Then about midway through the pile of crap I was stringing together, off to the left of where I sit at work, I watched a man who is retiring today get up from his desk and start making his way to the door, leaving the building for the last time as an employee. Along the way, he stopped to shake the hand or give a hug to every man and woman in his department, many of whom I know he has worked with for probably close to 20 years or more. After he gave the last hug, which went to his long-time manager, everyone in his department stood up and gave him a round of applause. Now, maybe this is common occurrence where some people work, but it’s a scene that I haven’t witnessed in my 15 years working where I do or anywhere else for that matter.

I sat at my desk, witnessing the entire scene play out with an almost surreal sense of wonder. In all honesty, it moved me—not quite to tears but almost. I couldn’t help but wonder what the man was feeling as he greeted each man and woman. Regret. Relief. Excitement. Uncertainty. Fear. Optimism. I couldn’t help but wonder what he would be thinking when he reached his car, got in, and sat alone in the parking lot while all the people he just said goodbye to picked back up with their duties and carried on. What would the ride home be like? What would Monday morning bring? Was he reflecting on past year or potting future ones? I wondered all this despite my only interactions with him being pretty much limited to an occasional “hello” while passing each other in the hallway.  

It’s moments like these that make me believe and trust that there is a greater force working in the world, a force that would take the effort to refocus the pathetic thoughts that were working in my mind and churning out worthless tripe of good to no one into thoughts being formed by witnessing a genuinely moving, touching moment—a moment overflowing with history and newness. Life is strange, and it’s strange how life can bring acquaintances and strangers together in a manner that they can share the same moment in drastically different ways. I’m not exactly sure what I’m feeling right now, but I know that I’m in a whole lot better place than I was before.  

Day 158: Making A Bucket List

I’m getting to that age where making a bucket list makes sense. I think there’s merit to creating a list of things that sound enticing and would fulfill your soul. What’s the harm, after all? Even if you never check off even one item, hasn’t just creating the list given you a certain amount of joy by pondering and imaging the possibilities and experiences?

I’ve never created a bucket list proper, but I do have boxes of items stored away in the back of my cavernous mind filled with various things that I want to do. I also have boxes filled with things I’ve wanted to do, tried, failed to do, but would like to try again. Waterskiing is such a thing. I’ve tried several times, gotten up for a few seconds, and crashed with nasty glory. I’m not sure why I can’t do it. I’m fairly athletic. I can snow ski. I can rollerblade and roller skate. I can chew gum and walk at the same time. But I can’t waterski, and it kind of pisses me off. But I digress.

I’m not sure if there are any unwritten or written rules to creating a bucket list. I’m guessing there aren’t. But I think there should be. You shouldn’t be able to add just any item, for example. Only the big stuff should qualify; stuff that’s hard to obtain or pull off and that takes some doing. Take walking on your hands, for instance. No way that belongs on a bucket list. Now, walking across the state you live in or across the country, that does. So, by that qualification, the first item I’m putting on my bucket list is “Walk The Entire Appalachian Trail.” It’s not an insurmountable goal, and I don’t think I should even have to do it all at once, but it’s not something that I can just wake up tomorrow and pull off, either.

I also think that a bucket list item should hold some special meaning to the person making the list. Painting a picture of your house, for example, isn’t worthy. Painting a picture of the house you just built with your own hands does. So, based on that, the second list I’m adding to my bucket list is “Build My Own Guitar.” Given the tools and the knowhow, I think that’s something that I can do and it’s something that would mean a great deal to me because A.) I can play guitar, and B.) being able to play guitar helps maintain my sanity. Playing a guitar that I made, therefore, would be extra special and just maybe even extra soothing.

Now, this may cause a bit of controversy, but I don’t believe a bucket list item has to be something you do alone. Take skydiving, for example. It’s possible you’ve always wanted to leap out of a plane. It’s also possible your spouse has always desired to throw herself into the blueness, as well. I don’t see a reason why you can’t add this item to your own list but do with someone else. So, to that end, the third item on my list is “Become a Peace Corps Volunteer When I Retire.” If anyone plans on retiring at roughly the same time as me and also wants to do the Peace Corps a solid, I’d be grateful for the company.

I’m sure there are all kinds of other rules I could apply where bucket lists are concerned, but I don’t want to make the thing too complicated. My bucket list rules would leave a little wiggle room so as to allow for creativity and built-in forgiveness. Like, say you’ve always wanted to swim with sharks but would prefer to do it while in a cage. I’m OK with that. If you’ve always wanted to have a boxing match with a real boxer but don’t want to get hit in the face, I’m OK with only body shots. If you’ve always wanted to sail the Atlantic but didn’t necessarily want to captain the ship, eh, that’s a borderline call, but I’d give it a pass.

Day 157: Summer Softball

This has been a hard summer. For various reasons, I’ve yet to play golf, and golf was the game I started playing in earnest to take the place of playing softball when I gave that up years ago. I miss playing softball. I miss it for a lot of reasons, mostly because I just loved the game. At times, softball could be exciting, heated, demoralizing, and fulfilling in a brief stretch of moments. It was also a hell of an escape from the stress of life.

Most of all, I miss the camaraderie of hanging out with guys that softball supplied. I played on the same team with mostly the same guys for, man, roughly 15 years or so. Every spring we’d gather for a few practices before spending the summer taking the field a couple times during the work week to do our thing. On the weekends, we’d trudge off to some city or town and hopefully spend all day Saturday and Sunday doing the same in one tournament or another. You get to know people pretty well when you spend that much time together, and you get to be friends. You even enter a few battles, including some where coming to blows appears unavoidable. You get to know your teammates’ wives and kids, as well, and you look forward to seeing them and you enjoying seeing how much they’ve grown during the offseason. When all that ends, it’s hard to replace.

Look, I’m not trying to make myself out as some gloried athlete who had to walk off into the sunset and is missing his glory days. At best, I was a fair to average player. I could hold my own, and on some occasions I was clutch. But better than anyone, I realize a softball game is just a softball game. The world isn’t going to stop turning in the event of a loss. No one ever threw a parade because I hit one out to dead left. But when you enjoy something, it doesn’t really matter what it is that elicits the happiness. It’s the happiness that’s important.  

I could probably still play softball if I really wanted to. Hell, I saw plenty of guys playing well into their late 50s. The thought of waking up on a Monday morning and pulling my work pants up over a big-ass strawberry I got on my butt sliding into second is in no way appealing anymore, however. Neither are the sore shoulders, sore feet, abs, and grounders taken off the shins, forearms, and face. Just as unappealing is standing in 100-degree July heat for five games in a row or waking up with a hangover early Sunday morning after getting drunk Saturday night, only to have to take the field to play the first game of the day because you lost your last game the night before. I don’t miss the bitching and moaning from guys who swear “I should be batting third, damn it” or “I don’t know why I’m playing right field.” I don’t miss the glares from an irate wife after I showed up late for some engagement or another because that one beer after the game stretched into 12. I don’t miss muscled-up hotheads who couldn’t control their temper and who defined their entire lives by how far they hit a round white ball. I sure don’t miss those 9:15 p.m. games on Monday night that didn’t really start until 9:40 and didn’t really end until 11.

What I do miss are the nicknames. Plug. Special K. The Finagler. Spewdog. Rat.

I miss playing on my work teams with guys who’d never played before and didn’t know left from right field.

I miss the routines, like playing pepper.

I miss sitting in a bar between games and soaking in the A/C.

I miss playing keno and ballpark food.

I miss the trips to Kansas City and Iowa and sitting in the hotel parking lot drinking cool ones from a community cooler.

I miss playing on astro-turf.

I miss playing deep into the night in games where you’d have to score a run in the last inning or stop the other team from doing the same.

I miss the inside jokes and the rally cries made in unison that only your teammates knew the meaning of, like “onion powder” or “EPIGAWA.”

I miss keeping book.

I miss fall ball and playing co-ed. 

I miss the high-five walk after a win.

I miss getting a new hat every season and getting it filthy by the third game.

I miss the rally inning.

I miss the #17 on my back.

I miss pulling my glove out of my ball bag, fishing out a decayed, cracked softball, and saying “who wants to throw?”

I miss the feeling of watching a ball that I’ve hit go over the fence (I didn’t happen that often) or driving a ball into the gap and watch it one-hop off the fence.

I miss the warning track.

I miss diving for balls, turning double plays, scooping a ball out of the dirt, and rubbing dirt on the bat’s handle.

I miss the smell of grass at night and the shadows of crisscrossing ballpark lights.

I miss seeing my kids, young and full of life, climbing up and down the bleachers.

I miss wearing my spikes and the smell of Ben-Gay.

I miss spitting sunflower seeds all day long.

I miss the batter’s box and the dugout.

I miss playing second base.

I miss being on deck.

I miss throwing the ball around the horn.

I miss spending seven innings at a time with my friends. 

Day 156; No Such Thing As Halfway Crooks

Here’s the thing about losing your temper and losing control: I’m all in favor of it—as long as it doesn’t happen perpetually and as long as no one really gets hurt. Otherwise, I see great benefits in losing your wig once in a while.

I may be alone in this thinking, but letting people see, hear, and feel that you’re coming apart at the hinges has its benefits.

1.) It lets them know you have a breaking point, and if you continue to push me toward that ledge and beyond, you’re going to have to deal with some ramifications, and they might not work out in your best interest.

2.) Going loco periodically allows you to hit the Reset button and start anew. That’s a must as far as I’m concerned. Acquire too much baggage or allow too much to go on unchecked or do too much enabling or carry too much of the weight and eventually your back starts to break. Better to let the load crash temporarily, freak the hell out, regroup, and pick the load back up and carry on than to be completely broken and never be able to carry the load again.

3.) Letting pent up anger blow with great force shows those involved, in so many words, that you’re not a sucker. You won’t be played. You won’t be disrespected. You will only succumb to so much pushing, prodding, needling, and shenanigans before you engage. And once engaged, fully engage. Don’t half-ass your commitment to enter the battle that’s been brought to you. You didn’t ask for this conflict, but you’re willing to finish it. To quote one of my favorite lyrics from Mobb Deep, there’s no such thing as halfway crooks.

Now, all that said, let me qualify what I’ve written up to this point.

1.) I don’t endorse losing your temper or control right from the get-go. Numerous attempts to reason with those involved should be completed first. My experience is that this stage will be met with varying degrees of success. Some people won’t respond to reason. Some people simply are too ignorant to understand reason. Some people just can’t see the big picture and can only process one emotion or one situation or one idea at a time. Complex constructs aren’t their forte. But some people can, and it’s better to investigate this possibility first than assume it doesn’t exist.

2.) I don’t endorse physical demonstrations of losing temper and control. Things very well may come to that, but avoid it if at all possible. It’s demeaning, it’s permanent, and it’s the low common denominator. Brain power is where it’s at.

3.) Avoid belittling, name-calling, and personality assassinations. You can’t take them back, and once that stuff is out there in the air, it stays there for a long time. If fact, that stuff never really goes away. If you’re lucky, it will fade into the background, but it’s still there, and it will be remembered, and you’ll have a hard time defending it in any way in which you come out looking noble or honorable.

4.) I’m a big fan of sarcasm, but use it in small doses and consider your audience. Some people don’t understand the finer nuisances of sarcasm and will interpret your attempts as being literal. You’ll spend more time explaining that what you said was meant to be sarcastic to such people than is really worth your time, and in the end, they still probably won’t get it.

5.) Be ready to apologize, even if you don’t feel like it. You most likely owe one, it shows you’ve thought about the situation with some level of depth, and it indicates that while you may be somewhat of an ass you’re not a complete ass.

Finally, let me say that all this advice should be taken with a big scoop of salt. I’m in no way a virtue of remaining above the fray or always playing fair or even running through stages 1 through 5 before losing it. I live a complicated life. I wake up some days with buttons popping off my shirt. Still, I firmly believe God gave us humility and forgiveness and regret to counterbalance our periods of white-hot anger.  

Day 155: Dancing

Way back in 1985, guess who was voted the Best Dancer in his senior class? That’s right, good people, yours truly. (I was also voted as Best Dressed and Best Hair, so you can take that distinction for what it’s worth.) These days, my dance steps basically amount to bobbing my right knee a couple of times and then alternating with a couple bobs to the left. I might mix in a spin move once every few measures just to keep my dancing partner honest, but that’s about it. Fred Astaire I ain’t. But I sure enjoy the hell out of watching people dance, especially little kids.

This past weekend I watched my four-year-old dance her heart out song after song along with her little cousins. She has some moves, too. I like her little Beyonce “All The Single Ladies” hand shake the best, but she can twirl a nice circle and do a little Hip-Hop bounce that pretty tight, as well. What I liked most, though, was how much fun she was having, and how for even a little bit getting caught up in the dancing going on brought her out of the shell she tends to stick in from time to time around strangers. Even better were the smiles that her and her little cousins brought to all the other faces watching them.

The next morning, as she and I took a walk together around the neighborhood, I asked her why she didn’t save a dance for her old man. She said, “all that dancing wiped me out.” I can accept that. I’ll get my dance with her later on. For now, I’m content watching her live it up from afar, especially if it keeps me off the dance floor. 

Day 154: Get Married, Gain Family

Some people get married and don't like their in-laws. I'm not one of those people. In fact, I'd say I made out pretty well. 


On one hand, my wife's mother's family stretches from the West Coast to the East Coast and is wonderful all around. Great aunt's, good cousins, loyal and loving fathers and mothers, and generally fine people with fine values and excepting hearts. They greet you with a hug, and they leave you with the same. They shoot straight, and they're good with a story. 


On the other hand is my wife's father's family, of whom I saw and spent time with many this weekend. They also shoot straight, they also greet and depart with hugs, and they're also good people with strong attachments to one another. 


Like anyone else with in-laws, I'm closer to some of them than others, and I get to see some more than others, as well. But in general, the thing that attracts me to all of them is their sense of family and their ties that bind. I admire that. I see the value my wife puts into and how much it means to her, and I admire that, as well. 


When my wife tells me so and so is coming to visit and is going to stay a while, I don't start making plans to be gone. I don't start griping or complaining. I don't immediately ask, "For how long?" I look forward to those visits. I look forward to the sense of community it creates. I like hearing old stories. I like hearing new ones, too. I like watching my kids interact with their relatives and creating bonds that I hope will carry on into future generations. I like meeting the new little ones and seeing how it's changing their parents, many of whom I've watched grow up from afar. I like seeing them start news lives, and I like watching their parents look on with worry and pride and happiness. I like sharing meals and experiences. I like taking part in customs that were born long before me and carried on throughout the generations. I like seeing respect and honor paid to the older generations. I do like these visits, and I'm grateful they occur. 


My in-laws on both sides of my wife's family are like my own. Diverse. Opinionated. Honorable. Real. It's good to be part of what they've created. I'm grateful my children will always have that resource to go back to again and again as needed.