Happy New Year

That heavy wind and whooshing noise you hear is fast-paced life steaming towards the end of another year.  Some tell me it is 20 below zero wind, called Minnesota weather.  But I know better.

My, how time has flown. As I age, each year goes faster. When I was young, a year seemed like forever; now, a year is almost like a week.

I’m not complaining because life is what we make of it, and 2013 was a very poor effort.  I’m not going to crow about stuff that happened or whine about how my health suffered and left me struggling for many days. No, I will just say a loud ‘Thank You’ to all of you for being part of my life and your friendship and support.

The highlight of 2013 was finishing my 29th consecutive Grandma’s Marathon. It was a strange race, with the fog so bad that I missed most of the mile markers. But then, I found the race easier, not knowing where I was, and kept pushing onward. The picture below shows the conditions.

My workout effort and bike miles were less than half the year before. In 2012, I recorded over 250 hours working out or exercising and logged just under 3,000 miles on the bike. That averaged over 40 minutes each day, and I thought that was acceptable. But 2013 was pathetic. I had just over 110 hours (an average of 18 minutes a day) and logged less than 1,500 miles on the bike. I need to find time for myself.

Not to make excuses, but 2013 had so many changes. In late 2012, I was promoted to a supervisory role. With this came performance reviews and discipline. In 2013, it required letting a staff member go for various simple things they would not resolve. I also felt like I was not getting anywhere personally. Self-pity could be a reason.

I upgraded my camera equipment and was pleased.  I purchased a Nikon D600 (Full Frame) camera, a Nikon 70-200 2.8 lens, a Tamron 10-24 3.5, and a Nikon 50 1.4.  I also picked up an Epson R3000 and printed many pictures at home.  Some of my favorite pictures are shown below.

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Passing 50 caused a moment of reflection.  Looking back, I realize that I made many mistakes and know it is impossible to go back and change.  I know my son is doing well and seems happy.  My ex-wife appears very happy, and that is wonderful.  She is still among the best friends anyone could ever ask for, and I often miss that.  Funny how when you marry a friend, things change.  She deserves to be happy as she nears her mid-40s 40’s.  Things happen for a reason, but as I have written in the past, I am still searching for some things that should have a reason, but I just do not understand.

I also spent much of 2013 thinking about dear friends who passed too soon.  Hard to believe my nephew, who died at three years old, was almost 25 years ago.  I still mourn the loss of Dana, my running partner and great friend, in 2005 -2006, before she was killed in a bicycle accident.  For some reason, I still recall vividly the image of David Prudlick (a high school friend who was killed my senior year).  I also think often of Cutis Arthur Almond, the professor who believed in me and gave me the confidence to pursue my graduate work.  May they, and many others, rest in peace. 

I sincerely hope 2014 brings you all good health and much happiness.  I know I will have to fight the fluid in the brain issue and the recurring infection, which has really sidelined me recently.  The Prednisone, Levaquin, and other steroids really play hell with me.  At times, I just want to give up.  Then I remembered that it was not an admirable option.

After all, we’re here for a limited time—not always a long time! Cherish your ability to go for a run and enjoy the outdoors. As we age, those wonderful experiences do not come easy. But then, if everything were easy, what would have to keep up going? It is the challenge and the success that make it all rewarding.

I do not have goals for 2014. One thought is to enjoy my son's Graduation with his Master's Degree and then possibly ride a bicycle from Denver home. That is just less than 900 miles. It would be a really difficult ride, but one that could be a lifetime of memories! 

Happy New Year, and Carry on, my friends.

But grandpa, he looks funny!

My grandfather has been the subject of many blog posts. There is one story he told that could not be true, although it really emphasizes the love and care a parent gives to a child. It is one I know changed my life… 

My own son has had difficult times, and Lord knows if there was any way for me to do what this father did for his child, I would without hesitation.  I don't know the moral of the following story from my Grandfather, but it made me think many times about how I looked at or treated people.  The story was something like:

There was a farmer who had one eye. His son avoided him and thought his appearance was an embarrassment. He was always helping the neighbors in any way he could to raise a few more dollars to help the son.  One day during elementary school he came to see his son, his son told his friend that the man wasn’t his father, but they knew.  He thought “How could she do this to me?”  The next day at school some of his classmates said, “EEEE, your dad only has one eye!” 

When the son came home, he told his father he wished he would just disappear. His son exclaimed, “If you’re only going to make me a laughing stock, why don’t you just die?” 

The father did not respond… The son didn’t even stop to think for a second about what he had said, because he was full of anger. The son was oblivious to his father’s feelings. 

The son wanted out of that house, and nothing to do with his father. So he studied real hard and earned chance to study abroad.  Then, he got married, bought a house, and had kids.  The son was so happy with his life without his father.   

Then one day, his father came to visit. He hadn’t seen him in years and he had not even meet his grandchildren.  His son always told his family his parents were dead.  The farmer was aware of the success and happiness of his son, but was concerned about the embarrassment he would have caused, so he stayed away. 

When the son stood by the door, his children laughed at his father.  The son yelled at him for coming over uninvited. He screamed, “How dare you come to my house and scare my children! GET OUT OF HERE! NOW!”   

And to this, his father quietly answered, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I may have gotten the wrong address.” – and he disappeared out of sight.  He told the family it was an old co-worker.

One day, the son was informed of a school reunion.   After the reunion, he went to the old farm just out of curiosity.  The neighbors said that his father had died.  The son did not shed a single tear. The neighbors handed him a letter that his father had wanted him to have.

“My dearest son, 

I think of you all the time. I’m sorry that I came to your house and scared your children.  I came to see you as I had liver failure and needed a donor.  If you reading this letter, a donor was not found.  I think it is important you know, when you were very little there was an accident and you lost your eye.  As a father, I couldn’t stand watching you having to grow up with one eye.  So I gave you mine. 

I am so proud of you!  You are seeing a whole new world for me, in my place, with that eye. 

With all my love to you, 

Your father.”

I recall the first time Grandpa told the grandkids this story.  We had just met a child of my grandfather’s neighbor.  I was six years old that summer (year left out intentionally).  The child had a severe case of Down syndrome, and the five Grandchildren did not act nice.  I know I was uncomfortable.  I stared and reacted rudely, as I did not know what to do?  My Grandfather took the kids into the living room, took out the bible (he always held the bible when he told a story), and told us the story.

I became pretty good friends with that Downs Syndrome boy (but can't recall his name!) and many handicapped, fat, unusual people, … over the years.   The less fortunate have so much to offer everyone if we get past the differences from us…

Thanks, Grandpa!

Carry on my friends! 

Home Free

I have never been much for a cappella. Maybe I never understood it or experienced the art form. For me, music required a solid drumbeat and a great guitar lick, or it was not music. That changed on December 14, 2013, when I was given a gift ticket to the Home Free concert at the Fitzgerald Theater in St. Paul, MN. 

When I entered the theater, it was odd to see an empty stage.  Just five stools and a few lights.  How could they rock the hall?  How could we feel the music and the vibes that only a solid drummer and the guitar wizard can bring?  I was looking forward to a nap.

However, when the concert started, I experienced outstanding percussion and a great stand-up bass sound, but where were the instruments? Five guys were singing, and then it hit me: Only two guys were singing, and the other three mouths were creating awesome instruments. I was in awe of their talent! 

So I purchased all five CDs and then picked up another by Tim Foust, a member who did solo music before joining the group. I was in a hurry to get the songs on my iPod. But to my surprise, the CDs were from when Austin Brown and Tim Foust were not with the band. Now, the other three members are talented, but adding these two is a huge improvement. While the CDs were OK, they were I just did not like the new stuff that I could listen to all day.  

Here are some great videos if you have not seen them:

• Home Free doing Avicii - Wake me up
• The first night on the Sing Off doing Cruise by Florida Georgia Line
• My Favorite - Ring of Fire

So, if you hear about them coming to town, I suggest spending some time experiencing the raw talent. It will be a wonderful experience. 

Oh, as a side note, on December 23, they won the A Cappella competition (Sing Off), and it was a very deserving win…  Hope you get the chance to enjoy the talent.  I know I did.

Carry on my friends.

Body pain and stupid actions

I often feel betrayed by my body. It seems to always be breaking down, leaving me frustrated and bitter.  No one else seemed to have as many problems.  I do not have what seems to bother some, like Arthritis, an inflamed gall bladder riddled with stones that end in surgery, chronic migraines, chronic hives, or Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.  Whenever I get sick, it never seems to be something trivial.  A cold becomes bronchitis. Hay fever leads to a sinus infection.

The thing is, I’ve done a lot of healing. I’ve consulted with counselors, physics, osteos, hypnotherapists, and more. I’ve become more in tune and aware of my body in many ways.

So when I found myself trying to heal my chronic pain, I was disappointed to hear the old “poor me, why me?” tape start running again. Something occurred to me as I lay down, feeling very sorry for myself.  There is a lesson I need to learn.  That is what is my body trying to tell me?

I said, “Excuse me, body, I feel really betrayed by you. You always seem to be sick, sad, or sore. What are you trying to tell me?”  Here was my body’s soft, small answer.

“I’m not trying to betray you, but I have needs, too. I try to let you know, but you’re too busy hanging out with your mind. When you two get together, you get lost, and sometimes I have to scream at you for you to hear me.”  Was this correct?

I started to think of the nights when I ignored my body’s need for sleep and eating sugar until I had throbbing headaches. Becoming dehydrated from forgetting to drink water. Punishing workouts that I pushed through in agony in my endless quest for thinness.

All that time, I spent overthinking, over-planning, and overtraining while my body endured it all. I tried and often failed to get my attention until it broke down.

Now, I’m not suggesting that all sickness or pain is caused by a lack of awareness or the ill-treatment of our bodies. Sometimes, illness befalls us for no good reason, and it’s no one’s fault. So, I keep doing what I can…

I am trying to focus. Seriously, focusing on what I can do gives me more inner peace, keeps me grounded, and inspires me to take action. However, how do I focus when my mind is spinning at warp speed?

So being a martyr and pushing myself to try to appear less weak to me or others is a known recipe for disaster I seem to forget. I need to understand if it hurts or it will hurt, I need to stop saying, “I should” or “Screw it, I’m doing it anyway”.  This is the inner self-taking irrational control.

It could be I need to stop trying to heal. I know it sounds weird, but hear me out. The idea of “healing” brings to my mind someone who is sick, broken, and less than good enough. What if, instead of trying to heal myself, I treat my body with absolute kindness? What would that look like?

Along with focus and the need to stop healing, I think of the power of meditation. I don’t think there is a person alive who couldn’t benefit from the strong mental skills that come from meditation. This is doubly true for those of us experiencing chronic pain. I am encouraged to find a style of meditation/relaxation that works, but it seems out of reach!

But it all comes down to the need to nourish myself.  When I feel like crap, it’s so easy to eat sugary foods to comfort myself. But it always backfires because I feel empty and drained after the rushing sugar high. When I choose food that I know my body will love me for, it helps me by putting more energy into healing itself.

One thing I could do better is to find pleasure in anything I do.  The simple pleasures are hindered by illness.  Pain and illness are a drag, no doubt about it. But humor and pleasure are incredibly healing. I need to surround myself with as much pleasure as I can.

I know all this, but I do not have a clue how to transform my attitude during moments of pain or illness. That is one thing I just can’t get right. I will try, but the effort seems grim. I just want to have a day without more than 50 percent of my body in pain. Then, being halfway, I may be motivated.  

Carry on my friends…

Strange stories that make no sense, or do they?

My Grandfather was wise and the most respected man in my life. He told many strange stories that never really made sense. He always said, “Someday you will understand the meaning behind my words, and they may not mean the same to you as another.” He made me think, and I credit him for my success. A proper father can make a difference. 

The story I recalled this past week was:

This beautiful bluebird once had babies in the early part of winter.  The chicks were warm and all bundled together in the nest.  But one young chick was restless and wanted to enter the world early.  He flapped, shook, and did everything he could but could not fly.  He needed to be developed more.  One day, he moved just enough to fall out of the nest and dropped over 50 feet to the ground, which was cold from the snow.  He lay there freezing and did not know what to do, so he kept chirping as loud as possible.

Soon, up came the huge bull.  He looked at the bird and slowly positioned himself over the bird.  The bird thought he was going to be crushed.  Although the bull did not step on him, he just pooped on him.  The huge warm pile of poop saved the bird from freezing.  The Bird was disgusted by the smell and being covered in poop and continued to make as much erratic noise as he could.  Then, up comes a wolf.  The wolf digs the bird out of the poop and uses the snow to clean it up a little.  Then, without hesitation, the wolf swallowed the bird and swallowed him whole.

I thought this was a bad story when he told me the story when I was about 9 years old and several times afterward.  I always thought the moral was to be prepared for life.  But this has been a very hard five weeks for me with excessive pain and the return of the infection, which really messes with my balance, and the headaches are excruciating.  I have used all the mental power I have to create the highest pain threshold I can to get through the day.  At night, I have to wake to sit up every few hours (or sleep sitting up), or the pain is worse.  It appears the medicine has not helped. 

I woke up at about 3:00 AM this morning, and my head was so bad.  For some reason, I thought of the particular story from my grandfather, which is stated above.  And I learned two new morals of the story other than staying the next early.  They are:

• The first thought was that in life, those people that throw shit on you are not always trying to hurt you (Cow shit kept the bird warm).  In as much, those who pull you out of a jam are not always trying to help you (wolf cleaned the bird up for lunch). 

• A second moral could be when you are up to your nose in shit, keep your mouth shut! 

So I am not going to complain about the health issue to loud.

And Grandpa, if you get to read blogs in heaven, you were gone before I really started to understand your stories, but I wouldn't be where I am today (the good parts) or who I am without you. You were the greatest and are missed, especially those stories that made no sense to me as a child.

Carry on my friends, carry on…

Twas just weeks before Christmas

A few years ago, when I blogged more frequently and people read the information, I posted my ideal Christmas list. Someone read it, as I had an interesting gift I wanted from Santa on Christmas morning. The biggest surprise was that Santa read my blog; I must have been a little nice! I never learned who it was, so I concluded that Santa must be real.

So, this year, I will again see if anyone reads my information.  I know people read the information, so let me say that differently.  See if anyone who would traditionally give me a gift reads the blog.  Maybe Santa may reread it, and I am not sure I have been nice this year…

But before I enter the list, let me share my favorite Santa quotes. Some you may have heard, but they are always worth repeating.

• "The main reason Santa is so jolly is because he knows where all the bad girls live." (George Carlin)
• "Santa Claus has the right idea - visit people only once a year." (Victor Borge)
• "Santa was happily married, but his wife wasn't." (Victor Borge)
• "One of the problems we have in this country is that too many adults believe in Santa "Claus, and too many children don't." (Lee Lauer)
• 
" I once bought my kids a set of batteries for Christmas with a note on it saying, toys not included." (Bernard Manning)
• "You know you're getting old when Santa starts looking younger." (Robert Paul)

Anyway, on to my list:

• Be pain-free!  For most of this year, I have had brutal headaches, and they progressively get worse.
• Be infection-free.  In October, I found I had the infection, which in 2010 resulted in major surgery.  I recently finished my Levaquin, Pro-Air, Q-Var, Fluticasone, and Prednisone routine.
• The ability to relax and wind down for a few days

None of this matters much if we are together without argument for at least one day.  That would be the best Christmas gift of all.  Peace and happiness are the ones we love.

Carry on, my friends, carry on.

Thanksgiving?

So it is Thanksgiving again, a time when people say we give thanks. Thanks in what manner, I ask? 

While most Americans think of the Pilgrims as celebrating the first Thanksgiving in America, some claim that others in the New World should be recognized as first. For example, in Texas, there is a marker that says, "Feast of the First Thanksgiving—1541."  But who knows if the marker is correct and not placed only for marketing?

The date of what is typically recognized as the first Thanksgiving has yet to be precisely known either.  Most early documents state it occurred between September 21 and November 9, 1621. The Plymouth Pilgrims dined with the Wampanoag Indians for the first Thanksgiving in that period.  There are reports that the First Thanksgiving lasted for three days?

Edward Winslow, a supposed participant in the first Thanksgiving (1621), wrote that the feast consisted of corn, barley, fowl, wild turkeys and waterfowl, and venison, with 52 pilgrims attending.  The first Thanksgiving supposedly included John Alden, William Bradford, Priscilla Mullins, and Miles Standish. 
 Some say approximately 50 Native Americans attended the first Thanksgiving, including Massasoit and Squanto - the Pilgrim's translator. 


Some believe the first Thanksgiving was a secular event that was not repeated. A Calvinist Thanksgiving, documented in 1623, did not involve sharing food with the Native Americans. 
 The first National Thanksgiving celebration was declared in 1775 by the Continental Congress to celebrate the victory at Saratoga during the American Revolution. It was not an annual event. 


In 1863, two national days of Thanksgiving were declared: One celebrated the Union victory at the Battle of Gettysburg, and the other began the Thanksgiving holiday we still celebrate today. 


After getting these fragmented facts off the internet, I still do not have the answer I am looking for: What is Thanksgiving? Is it more of a commercialized event? Is it the day we all celebrate, as we have the chance to buy what we do not need at a discount the day after?

The generally accepted Thanksgiving is a time to get together with loved ones, eat a lot of food, watch some football, and give thanks for all the blessings in our lives. Many homes will be decorated with horns of plenty, dried corn, and other 'symbols' of Thanksgiving. Schoolchildren across America will 'reenact' Thanksgiving by dressing as either pilgrims or Wampanoag Indians and sharing a meal of some sort. All of this is wonderful for helping create a sense of family and national identity and remembering to say thanks at least once a year. However, as with many other holidays and events in American History, many of these commonly believed traditions about the origins and celebration of this holiday are based more on myth than fact. Let's look at the truth behind our celebration of Thanksgiving.

And as an afterthought, maybe the Indian movement who think the North Dakota Sioux need to change their name will there soon be a protest of little 3^rd graders dressing like Indians for a reenactment?  So I am thankful for so much, but I am also distressed by more.

Happy Holidays and Carry on!

The demise of trail running?

Over the past few years, I noticed a downgrade in the trail races race environment.  I have not competed in a trail race (only volunteered) in over four years, so my observations and conclusions may need to be validated.  I have noticed the trail races are increasing in participants to a point where you cannot “get to know” the runner.   They are becoming more of a business that succeeds on volunteers instead of a volunteer group that is not concerned about profit but breaking even at best.  This drive for numbers changes all aspects of a race.

At the aid station, it becomes more of a directing the stampede of horses through the canyon instead of getting personal and helping the individual needs.  This comment comes from experience both as a participant and volunteer.   To me, this is a shame!

Another issue is that many runners are less experienced and generally have higher expectations on the road race.   I had a runner yell at the director as he got lost.  So, of the 250 runners, 10 got lost.  Most found it so easy as they knew what they were doing.   This runner did not want to accept personal responsibility and blamed others for his mistake. 

When I ran, I studied the map, learned the area, and used care when I knew a questionable turn was near. The lost runner who gets angry has little understanding of what it takes to mark a course, and then there are people who do not want a race to remove markers. So, if a runner is prepared, they can overcome issues. 

At Surf the Murph this past weekend, someone got lost. I said, “Are you looking down to see the markers?” and they said, “No, I am enjoying the scenery.” Even when they are directed to look for the markers, they get mad, as someone else was the reason they got lost. I guess we need to mark the flags on the ground, the trees, and the sky in case they look up.

I have had people ask me where the restroom was located while I was at the primitive station on the Superior Hiking Trail.  I had another who did not carry a water bottle and then used 6-8 cups at the station.  In the old days, trail runners were all environmentally friendly; now, I find more runners who just drop the trash anywhere and are just rude.  This may be because they pay $100-$200 to run a race, which causes expectation.  I do not want to discount many who are very gracious, but I am finding more who are self-centered runners.  Most are fun, caring, and knowledgeable runners, but we all know the worst patient takes the most time and leaves the most significant impression.

Then there's the other side that I noticed in a heated exchange on Facebook. A spring 2014 ultra-marathon was scheduled on the same day as another longstanding one. Some questioned why not another weekend and why compete with the other race. My response was, “Why not the same day, and maybe a third would be nice?”  

Why, you may ask? Because if there were more competition and race options, the price would go down, the number of runners at each would go down, and they would become friendly again.  Also, different people cater to different types of runners.  While the trail races I have run in the past are great, the organization and mentality of the group are different from mine. That does not mean they are not great people who run great races; I prefer other options like Mcdonald's, Subway, Wendy’s, and Burger King.  All serve the same crap, but we have preferences which we then choose one over the other.  Athletic events, to me, are the same.  The variety on the same weekend is GREAT.

What I find it ironic is the person who was most upset about this particular competition in race options ran a local race on the exact same day as another ultra in the State.  Although there were no comments or complaints about having two longer trail races on the same day in that situation.

I look at it as supply and demand. Right now, I run fewer trail races because I don't see the benefit of the high price and lack of options.  If there were seven races on the same day, there would be better competition in pricing and services; of course, some would no longer be able to compete. But that’s the way it is, just like when a coffee shop opens up across from the neighborhood coffee shop. In America they have that right, it’s called competition.

I recall when Stillwater, Minneapolis, and Fargo all had Spring Marathons, and everyone feared the demise of Grandma’s Marathon.  Now I think I can speak as an authority to say that Grandma’s could use a decrease in runners.  I have run and finished the race every year since 1985.  I have seen it grow, and the enjoyment decreased substantially as it became a small race to another more than cattle hoarding.  I return only as there is a streak, but I prefer a marathon with less than 500 runners, just like when the 100-mile has 20 runners.  It was small, we knew everyone, and running an aid station was enjoyable.  Aid stations are becoming less satisfying, and I am rethinking my future involvement.  After all, a hobby should bring satisfaction, and my last two volunteer efforts have been more work and burden than satisfaction. 

Maybe I should start running again so I only get to hang with the people who are at my pace and not experience all the “bad” elements I have come to hate about the trail races lately.

Carry on…

Somewhere between thin and obese, does it matter?

I was a fat kid -
well, at least for most of my childhood years. I learned to tolerate the burdens and stigmas society attaches to "fat" people for a brief yet formative period in my life.  As happens to many children passing through puberty or other growth spurts, I found myself becoming one of the "fat kids" at about 5th grade and stayed in that group until about my sophomore year of high school.

I became acutely aware of what it meant to be singled out during that period.  Often shunned, made the butt of jokes and pranks, and acquainted with the cruelty that my "normal" classmates could sometimes exercise, just to make sure that I knew my place in the pecking order of adolescent society.

I also learned about the limitations of adult society. Grownups could be insensitive or just stupid about what they might say.  This included my parents. I learned adults did not always consider a fat child's needs to belong to his peer group at this age important at all as I ended up with "fat kid" clothes, which in the 1970s, were rather obviously different in styles compared to what our classmates might choose as the "in" thing to be accepted.

From many different quarters, the inherent message was that "chubby" or "Fattys" were marginal members of society, at best. As long as we knew our place as defined by the "majority", we could be tolerated, but not always welcomed into the mainstream. 



As anyone who has lived through early adolescence knows, difference from the norm can be a painful isolation, or at the very least, a source of real frustration. Many would see you as something other than worthy, capable, or a desired associate. If we are lucky, as I was, we learn to cherish the friends and relationships offered without prejudice or reservation.  This is the way I have found true ultra-marathon runners.  Accepting and nurturing individuals, no matter what the recipient of their kindness, is an impediment.

I was and remain lucky because I have a nurturing that sees past the limitations or differences imposed by life's lotteries. I was fortunate enough to have had some good friends and adults who accepted me for who I was when my family did not.

Some of that unconditional love helped me realize that although society and my classmates might not have the capacity to include me, there were people who did and worked at that goal. These were, and still are, the people I seek, regardless of the situation I may find myself experiencing.

I eventually grew out of being a "fat kid." But as I changed, I realized that the same forces of ignorance, exclusion, and petty assumptions were alive and well, regardless of the targeted issue. The discriminations now arose from different issues than just body size or shape, but frankly, the source was the same - a mindless conformity, a heartless insecurity. Had I not gone through my "fatty" period, and when I did, I might not have coped as well or had my values strengthened when more adult transgressions against decency, tolerance, humanity, intelligence, and yes, even Love were to rear their ugly heads.

It may seem odd to some, but I see many positive things that came to me from this experience, with wide-ranging good for the soul. It made me stronger in ways my unchallenged peers may have never considered. It at least taught me something about human hurtfulness, acceptance, and compassion, and about finding true value in others and applying those lessons in shaping my character and relations with others. It has been a road less traveled, but it has made all the difference in my experience since.

Fireworks, 2nd try...

In 2012, I made my first effort at fireworks photography.  I was pleased, but the photos could have been better. 

In 2013, I think I improved.  There is still improvement needed to do to get those perfect shots, but for 2013 I spent the week before thinking about where to shoot, and what background and foreground would be best.  I made a decision and waited for good weather.  I think it was a good location, although the lake was so filled with scum that the reflection was not as good as I desired. 

Below are some examples of my efforts.

The entire spectrum of shots is on the Flickr page. I am really enjoying the photo experience. I look at things differently and see things I did not see before as I look globally—not world-like globally, but at the details in the subject, the foreground, and the background. Visualize how the three's contrast, composition, and relationship make the ideal photo. I hope I can improve for 2014. That is always the best goal we can have in life. Improve and be happy with the progress.

So, I am looking forward to spending a great deal of Friday on the Superior Trail 100 mile using my newfound visualization skills to see what improvements I can make in using the subject, foreground, and background to tell the story in a snapshot. I hope to succeed, but if not, the journey is wonderful!

Carry on my friends...

Exercise emotions...

Do you know that sting of guilt when you have scheduled a workout (riding a bike to work) but do not follow through because your mind says, “YOU ARE TIRED”? A temporary feeling of guilt is a common sentiment that we all have when we plan to exercise but then lose our motivation or something gets in the way of our training schedule. However, it is not as easy for some people to move on from this guilty conscience or skip exercising altogether for a day or two. You might have heard a friend referring to someone who is “addicted” to exercising or is entirely “dependent” on working out for several hours every day. 

 
Parents, peers, the media, and the scientific literature relentlessly preach that exercising is good for our bodies and minds. However, it is rarely mentioned that exercise behavior can be unhealthy when it becomes a compulsive habit. I know people who would believe life is over if they did not start the day with a 10K or some other form of exercise, then walk another form at lunch, followed by an evening effort. I have been there, and my mind tells me I am still there, but my body is close to 51 says something entirely different.

Things are different, like my right knee and the past pain. I was sure it would flair up after my 29th consecutive grandma’s marathon and be very painful. I was wrong. In fact, after a few days, the entire body felt great. However, I continued to let the body heal. After three weeks of rest, I go on three 50-mile bike rides in 8 days and throw in a few 36-mile rides there, and the right knee pain is high. Makes no sense to me. Is it a delayed reaction from the marathon? There are too many bike miles too soon. Either way, it is frustrating when the mind says, “You are doing great,” and the body says get some crutches and stay in bed. 

Could it be that I need the exercise to keep the body functioning? Could it be that I am pushing too hard and then crash, a binge-and-purge exercise approach? Could this be more than an off-beat exercise addiction? I am not sure, but I have had too long without the positive energy from a regular workout, and the body is just being a pain, literally! So, could it be that I need to regroup and stop having that “I need to get that done or else” attitude? That will be hard! 

Don’t get me wrong. This surely is a “positive addiction” to exercising, meaning that the exercise routine can easily be included in daily life and leaves space for commitments to family, friends, work, and personal time. However, one has to be aware that there is a fine line between a healthy commitment to exercising and a perceived obligation and compulsion to fulfill a certain training regimen.

So, what I learned from this blog entry is a paradox: exercise, which has the reputation of being exclusively beneficial for our mental and physical health, can have the opposite effect if it is done in excess, and this holds true both for recreational and top athletes. To conclude, we should learn from Hippocrates, who acknowledged that “if we could give every individual the right amount of exercise, not too little and not too much, we would have found the safest way to health.”

 

Carry On…

G.M.O.

GMO…

Government Managing Office? No, it has something to do with the government, but not that agency. General Molly, INC (Stock selling for about $1.70 a share)?  They are in the business of exploring, developing, and mining molybdenum properties.

Most foods we eat may contain ingredients derived from genetically modified organisms (GMOs). Are Genetically Modified (GM) foods safe or harmful? While regulatory authorities have approved GM food on the market, some people are concerned that there is a risk of harm. If you live in Europe, avoiding GM foods is easier since laws require labeling. In the US and Canada, however, food manufacturers are not required to label whether their food is genetically modified.   Is it a coincidence that obesity is less of an issue outside the US and Canada?

I do not have a scientific background.  Most of my knowledge is based on real-life experience.  The more I think about GMOs, the more I think about my grandfather.  He was healthy and lived short of being a 100-year-old man.  He only ate a little processed food.  Raised his food.  He had chicken, cows, and pork and raised them on grass, not chemicals.  He had a 1-acre garden, and Grandma canned extensively.  Very few GMOs or processed foods are available for them.  Made his own Ice Cream!  

Then, I think of my mom’s side of the family.  Generally, they ate out or ate processed food extensively.  Neither made it past 70 years old and had many health problems. 

I have spent much time since April 13, 2013, monitoring what food goes into my body.  I read labels and took the time to Google some complex words on some labels.  Here are some examples and the information I found:

We have Coloring agents (blue 1, blue 2, yellow 5, and yellow 6) in most 
cakes, candy, macaroni and cheese, medicines, sports drinks, soda, pet food, and cheese.  
The US allows this as we eat with our eyes. Recent studies have shown that when food manufacturers left foods in their natural, often beige-like color instead of coloring them with these chemical agents, individuals thought they tasted bland and ate less, even when the recipe wasn't altered.

The Health Hazards of coloring agents, which are made from coal tar, are also used to seal-coat products to preserve and protect the shine of industrial floors and in head lice shampoos to kill off the small bugs. Yes, we eat it!

We also have Olestra (aka Olean).  Never knew this nut then realized it is most common 
Fat-free potato chips
.  The US allows this as Procter & Gamble Co. took a quarter century and spent half a billion dollars to create “light” chips that are supposedly better for you.  Lobbyist work? They may need another half a billion bucks to figure out how to deal with the embarrassing bathroom side effects (including oily anal leakage) that come with consuming these products.
  The known health hazard is that the fat substitutes appear to cause a dramatic depletion of fat-soluble vitamins and arytenoids, robbing us of vital micro-nutrients.  " The U.K. and Canada, have banned it..

I was surprised to learn what Bronated vegetable oil (aka BVO) is, and it is found 
in sports drinks and citrus-flavored sodas.  The US allows this as it 
acts as an emulsifier, preventing the flavoring from separating and floating to the surface of beverages.  It is a health hazard as it competes with iodine for receptor sites in the body. Elevated levels of the stuff may lead to thyroid issues, such as hypothyroidism, autoimmune disease, and cancer.  That's not all. BVO's main ingredient, bromine, is a poisonous chemical considered both corrosive and toxic. It's been linked to significant organ system damage, birth defects, growth problems, schizophrenia, and hearing loss, which explains why it's been nixed in more than 100 countries.

I once thought potassium was always good on a label; then I read about Potassium bromated (aka brominated flour)
.  This is common in rolls, wraps, flatbreads, bread crumbs, and bagel chips
.  The US allows this flour-bulking agent to help strengthen dough, reducing the time needed for baking and resulting in lower costs.  What health hazard does it have?   It is made with the same toxic chemical found in BVO (bromine). This additive has been associated with kidney and nervous system disorders as well as gastrointestinal discomfort.

I had to check Azodicarbonamide
 twice…  This includes breads, frozen dinners, boxed pasta mixes, and packaged baked goods.  While most countries wait a week for flour to naturally whiten, American food processors prefer to use this chemical to bleach the flour ASAP.
  I read this item was so bad, and banning this product in Singapore is not enough. You can get up to 15 years in prison and be penalized nearly half a million dollars in fines for using this chemical linked to asthma and primarily used in foamed plastics, like yoga mats and sneaker soles.

There are so many more.  Makes me think twice, well, five or more times about the food I purchase and stuff into this overweight and unhealthy person-years of preservatives created.  Do you read the labels?

Carry on, my friends.

Photography

Since I quit tennis in December 2011, I have been looking for a new hobby. I have really enjoyed photography. While there is a certain skill level to get great photos, sometimes you are in the right place at the right time, and the shot just works. The two below were not planned; they just happened without all kinds of set-up and planning.

Then you see other photos and think, "Were these staged or accidental?"  Like below are totally innocent but look a little inappropriate:

And then those that are set up and just cool!

Anyway I look at it, I have so much to learn and seems like little time.  But that makes this life fun, all the unknown -- the uncertainty. Like running a marathon or an ultra where very little is constant, and that is how I like life.  Always thinking and trying to do better.  I think it would really suck to be the best, as then it really is hard to see where one can go.  So, I love being the 1 millionth best at what I do.

Carry on my friends...

29 down, 1 to go...

It was 29 years ago. I had a goal of running Grandma's Marathon and Twin Cities Marathon for 25 consecutive years. The postal service goofed up my Twin Cities streak at 12 when the machine chewed up my entry, and it was returned after the race. So I had Grandma's...

When I reached the 25th year, I was prepared to call it quits. Then, my son encouraged me to run with him for the 26th race. For the 26th, I decided I would run 5.24 miles and quit. That would mean I ran 26.2 consecutive Grandma's Marathons. My son decided to run the whole race with me, so I could not stop at 5.24 miles, as this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. That means only one thing! The goal was now 30 consecutive finishes.  

The 29^th Consecutive finish at Granma’s marathon is complete.  I went into the week of the race thinking the 5-mile training run on June 15^th was inadequate to finish.  That was the first run since Grandma’s 2012.  Since that was such a poor run, I decided to run again on Wednesday the 19^th.  I completed a 4-mile run and felt expended.  This year I was really concerned and knew my only chance was to be mentally strong and I believed I know my body and capabilities well.  So I told Shelley I would run 12:30 minute miles for the first hour with the average pace slowing every hour to the point where I averaged a 15-minute mile at the end. 

I left for Duluth on Friday at about 12:30 PM.  I was going up alone as Shelley had plans with her parents in Lincoln, Nebraska, and my sister could not make the race in a year.  I arrived at 4:30 PM (traffic was horrible) and quickly picked up my packet.  I walked around Canal Park to calm my nerves.  After evaluating the clothing option I brought with me, I decided to purchase gloves and sleeves.  They turned out to be so valuable in the race!

2013 Finisher

So it was nighttime, and it was just the Smart Car and me. This would be the first time I would try to sleep in the little thing. I brought five pillows and a blanket. I stuffed the area between the seats with pillows, put my legs in the passenger area, and starched my body across the less than 5-foot space. While challenging, I slept about as well as I could. Of course, two Advil PMs helped.

The forecast for the race was dismal.  Cold, rain, and heavy winds.  The only thing that could have made the weather look worse was snow.  Thank GOD that did not happen!  However, we may have had sleet if the winds had come off the lake.  But the winds were from the northeast.  No lake breeze today!   

I made it to the start of the train and prepared for the race.  To shorten this post, it went exactly as planned.  In the first hour, I averaged 12:24 miles (planned 12:30).   After hour two, I was at 12:49 (13:00 Planned).  I felt good but decided not to risk cramps or fatigue and follow the plan.  I held back and did some walking to stay with the plan.  Well, I finished with a 15:02 average, four minutes better than last year.  I felt good.  I even jogged to the drop bags and to the car. 

The drive home took a lot of work to start.  The fog was in Duluth all day and cleared when I was past Cloquet. (See video).

On a side note, on April 13, 2013, I went to see a nutritionist.  I really am into what she says and have followed her advice.  I have not stepped on the scale since April 13, 2013, until today.  While I have lost weight, I am a little disappointed.  I have lost an average of 2.4 pounds a week (24 pounds). Is that a healthy loss rate?  In 2006, when I also went to a nutritionist, I had an average of 4.3 pounds a week for the first 10 weeks.  I need to be patient.

Now, it is time for recovery. I hope to be back on the bike and taking that 18-mile commute to work in the next few days!

Carry on…

What is today?

Today is Father's Day, a day of celebration honoring fathers and celebrating fatherhood, paternal bonds, and the influence of fathers in society. Father's Day can mean many different things for many of us (the same goes for Mother's Day)… I thought I'd pose the question to you above: Just what does Father's Day mean to you through your viewfinder in life, past and present?

Is Father's Day a lunch, a pair of socks, a tie, or a comical card about the old man's age? Commercialism will tell us it is all of the above and more if they could sell it to us. It is like Christmas sometimes with an effort, and mostly at the last minute, to buy that little something to show our appreciation. 

Of course, there are good and bad fathers, my own being of the latter variety. Not that I stay bitter for too long; it has only been about 30 years, and I am unsure if I can say I forgave him.
The father's role is not easy; I know that well. I have a son and had a daughter. We fathers often give the attitude of a hard exterior and pretend nothing really bothers us much because, as a dad, that is expected. We are the foundation and cornerstone of the family, whether we like it or not, and we should never delegate that role to another. I have let a family fail and delegated fatherhood to another…

As a father, I often hurt more than many will ever know. I can be good at hiding it, but often, it comes out as anger. I anger myself for failing each time I believe I fail. Then, we try our best to compensate for those failures, and it seems life repeats itself. One difference between my father and myself is that I tried. I'm not sure how well either of us succeeded.

Am I the perfect father? Far from it! As I said, I did not have a very good role model to draw from, and so often, I was simply trying to do what I believed my father should have done for me. A bad father does not fail now and again; the bad fathers are the ones who fail to try.
I have never needed to purchase a Father's Day card or take a loving old man to lunch and watch him take pleasure in the ones who loved him sitting around a table celebrating the day with him. If you had that privilege this Father's Day, you are very blessed; many never had and will never have that day.

I quit celebrating Father's Day the day my Grandfather died. He was the best, well, only father I recall having. I have no idea how my father did not learn from him. They were polar opposites. They say that happens. When you are not happy with your upbringing, you do the opposite. 

 
My father grew up poor and was high on people knowing his success in his chosen field. But that was a Grandfather

However, I still wonder if I did a good job. My son is so much like me, except for his anger toward his father. He treats Father's Day just like any other day. It is because he makes me feel like it's Father's Day 335 days a year. (I know there are 365 days, but even we have an occasional issue.)
But I know that as a father, I have succeeded and failed. It is too late to change that. I only hope that if my son becomes a father, he will take the time to learn more about that important job than those before him. No matter what a father or mother decides when raising a child, there is never a right answer, as each child is different.

With that, Happy Father's Day, Grandpa. I miss you so much; you have been gone for over 15 years!

Carry on, my friends, carry on…