Prohibitive advice from popular music...

Don't:
1. Stop thinking about tomorrow
2. Stop believing
3. Stop before you get enough
4. Do me like that
5. Go changin'
6. Go chasin' waterfalls
7. Fear the reaper
8. Forget about me
9. Worry
10. Eat that yellow snow
11. Think twice
12. Turn around
13. Speak
14. Change that number
15. Let the sun go down on me
16. Take my Kodachrome away
17. Try to fade this
18. Stop the beat
19. Leave me hanging on like a yo-yo
20. Let me down

New blog!

I decided to create a 2nd blog dedicated to my athletic stuff. You can find it here.

If you "follow" me here, I hope you'll "follow" me there if you like. I guess I just had an OCD moment and needed some organization. This blog will still exist for the purposes of me writing about silly stuff, of course.

Hope to see all 10 of you on the other blog soon!

Danny

Facts about "Love" according to popular music...

1. It's all you need.
2. It will keep us together.
3. It will tear us apart.
4. It will keep us alive.
5. It is what it must have been, though it is over now.
6. It's a burnin' thing that makes a fiery ring.
7. Foreigner, Stevie Nicks, and Haddaway want to know what it is.
8. When a man does it to a woman, he can't keep his mind on nothin' else.
9. Whiiiiiiitney Hooooooouuston will always do it tooooooo yooooooooooooou.
10. Meatloaf would do anything for it, but he won't do that.
11. It stinks.
12. You can't buy it.
13. When I fall in it, it will be forever.
14. Air Supply is all out of it, but makes it out of nothing at all. They are also lost in it.
15. The Black Eyed Peas want to know where it is.
16. Lionel Richie wants to share all of his with you, though his is endless.
17. Bad Company feels like making it.
18. There's nothing wrong with it.
19. You give it a bad name.
20. Strangers in the night ponder the odds that they'll be sharing it before the night is through.

Two years ago...AKA "My New Birthday"

Here I am, coming off of my 2nd ultramarathon...still sore from it, and possibly getting sick as a result of that long, chilly, and physically taxing day. As I was looking back through old blog posts I realized that today is an important day. A year ago, I wrote a post reflecting on how I had started tracking my running mileage on February 18th 2009, so it seems appropriate that I should do the same thing today. Instead of rehash what I wrote last year, I'll let you read it if you want.

Last year, I wrote about how much I had changed, largely as a result of incorporating exercise into my daily life. With each passing day, I appreciate more and more how much this change will forever alter the course of my life. Because an odd truth struck me this week. It may not seem odd to anybody else because nobody else had the chance to grow up as Me. I grew up as just a regular kid...kinda scrawny, awkwardly tall, and not particularly good at any particular sport, but I played the sax. I was skinny and wore extra large shirts, which only enhanced the appearance that I was most certainly NOT an athlete. Not even close.

The odd truth that struck me this week is that I am an athlete. Like I said, people who know me now say "Um....are you joking? Of course you're an athlete. You are an Ironman, an ultramarathoner, a cyclist, and you have aspirations of someday swimming the English Channel. How could that even be a question?" Well, to be honest I have been living in denial about this status for quite awhile. At first, even though I ran all the time, I just called it exercise. When I started completing bigger and bigger races, I just called it that...doing races. At some point, when it should have been clear to me that I had crossed the threshold between casual exerciser to athlete, I simply stopped pondering the issue. I had never really been comfortable defining myself as such, mostly because I liked the idea that I was just an average dude who did stuff that 'seemed' athletic. But I can no longer hide behind that. I am an athlete. I wasn't born one, for sure, but on this day two years ago, I was reborn as one.

And I truly look back on that day as a legitimate rebirth. On February 18 2009, I was born-again and I became a different person. I was completely unaware of it at the time, but that first step out the door for that first out-of-breath, side-cramping, painful run...that was the first step in a long ongoing journey...a journey that I hope continues until the day I die. This new journey is a life that I never would have considered possible for a scrawny kid like myself. On that day, I was depressed, and in somewhat of a rut, and I made a choice to do something about it. I moved proactively rather than living another day passively.

That is why I have decided to change my birthday. It's really not a big deal to anybody anyways...I stopped celebrating my own birthday a few years ago. Not because I have a problem with getting old or anything. I am 30 and proud of it. I simply don't believe in celebrating it anymore. I was born on October 6th 1980. I didn't do anything amazing, I didn't cure a disease, I didn't raise $5000 for a noble cause...I very passively came into existence without any particular effort on my part. If anything, my mother deserves to have attention, cake, and presents because she is the one who battled for hours to give birth to a 10.5 pound Danny that day. This is the problem I have with celebrating myself on a day that I achieved nothing aside from crying, peeing, and pooping for the first time.

On the other hand, February 18 is a day I am legitimately proud of. That is the day I changed my life. That is the day I fixed myself. That is the day I improved myself. Sure I had done races before, but I have to admit that my first half marathon involved me being dragged, kicking and screaming, through the training plan(Thanks Ashley!). This was different. Nobody suggested that I do this. Nobody told me it was a good idea. Nobody else is responsible for the choice I made that day, and therefore I have decided that I will allow myself to celebrate Danny on February 18th from now on.

I'm calling it my new birthday. I don't need or want presents, but if you feel like you'd genuinely want to wish me a happy birthday if you knew what day it was, let's just pretend that it is now February 18th. Tell me congratulations on another year of being active, of being healthy, of being truly and fully ALIVE. If I have ever inspired you to do something that you might not have considered on your own, tell me about it today. If you have me to thank, either fully or partially, for the fact that you now run, cycle, swim, do races, or whatever it is you do...thank me today.

With the establishment of my new birthday, I'd like to now get the statistics out of the way. Since February 18th 2009, the day I started living, I have run 1200 miles(300 on trails), biked 2090 miles, and swam 40 miles. Completed: 4 half marathons, 2 marathons, 2 ultramarathons, 1 Olympic tri, 2 half Ironmans, 1 full Ironman, and countless smaller races in between.

I currently have several friends training for Ironman races. My brother has done 2 half marathons(one of them damn near beating my own PR), one Olympic tri, and is currently training for a 70.3. I have no doubt a full Ironman is in his very near future. My father is registered and training for his first half marathon, which I plan to run with him. And then there are the countless unwitting friends who I have conned into coming trail running or cycling with me. Sorry guys, but this is athletic evangelism, and I intend to convert all of you.

So.....happy birthday to me...it's good to be alive!

Run Toto Run 50k - The Meat and Potatos

Ben said "go".

The pack moved forward, and I along with it. The snow was roughly ankle deep, but beneath the thin frozen crust it was quite fluffy, providing less than desirable traction. Gaining speed was a difficult thing because instead of propelling you forwards, any force applied to the ground by your foot would simply cause it to slide in one direction or another...usually either backwards or to the side. And there were 300 of us running in a dense pack, all doing this exact thing. Falling would have been unpleasant, and in hindsight, especially so due to the fact the we had just spent a bunch of time inserting metal screws into the treads of many of their shoes.

Luckily I did not fall, and I was not overly concerned with speed. The pack naturally thinned out, sorted itself according to the initial pace of the various runners, and stretched out into a long line that ran across a bridge, across a field, up a hill, briefly onto a road, and then made a sharp left turn into the woods. I found myself bringing up the rear of a 10 person group of moderate pace. I was very much focusing on not overexerting myself too early in this race, because I already knew how that would feel later in the day. I was also not too keen on letting this group choose my pace for me. And I prefer to be in front, so I can see the trail ahead of me and choose my own footing. After a mile or so, I make the pass and raise my pace slightly to leave this group behind. So far I was running comfortably and I wasn't breathing too hard. The sun was over the horizon and shone brilliantly through the trees. I was happy and I had the trail all to myself for the moment.

I hit the infamous "Wyandotte Triangle", a rambling wander through the woods that was absolute murder last summer. Sharp turns, sudden short and steep climbs, low hanging branches, logs to jump over...it was fun this time. I made quick work of it and moved on to the bridle trails which traverse a ridge before taking endless switchbacks down a ridiculously steep hill and spit runners out into an immense field just north of the dam. Across the field, trudge up a hill, aid station, trudge up MORE hill, exit stage right...back onto the trails.

The next few miles have some of the steepest sections of the entire course, both uphill and downhill, and provide some fairly hair-raising dropoffs, should one decide it prudent to lose one's footing. This would end up playing a factor later in the race as trail conditions deteriorated from the 1000+ pairs of shoes that would pound into it that day. Eventually, the wild descents and back-breaking ascents lead to familiar territory. The final aid station was the start of the Veteran's Day race last fall, which overlaps with the WyCo Ice 5k course. This is where the badasses are truly separated from the rest of us. The Hills. Never. Stop. In the last 4 miles of this course, there are no less than 4 enormous, steep, and neverending hills. And possibly more. I honestly do not recall anything other than suffering. There is a point where you meet up with the road, and you can HEAR the commotion from the finish line area, but you still have 2 more big ugly hills to deal with, as the course cruelly teases you and then thrusts your pitifully sore body back into the woods.

Finally that last stretch, a tiny steep hill with a random iron post sticking in the ground. I always assumed it was to grab onto as a means of getting over the hump, and I always grab it. It's 50 yards downhill to the finisher's chute. Friendly faces abound. Sophie, Ben, Dick Ross happily snapping pictures. 1 of 3 laps complete. 10 miles down, 20ish to go. I cross the timing mat just under 2 hours(1:55), which astonishes me. Much faster than I anticipated. I head over to the Home Base aid station, grab some snacks, refill the hydration pack, quick stretch, mental pep talk, and off I go to begin Lap 2 to the sounds of cheers, music, and cowbells!

Lap number 2 was oddly enough exactly the same as lap 1. Except different. Same trail. The snow was slightly more packed down, and in parts it was slightly sloppier. The legs were definitely fatigued and those steep hills were slightly more torturous and unforgiving. And it was definitely slower. I had brought a miniature video camera that I've used on trail runs before to attempt to capture some of the course and the overall experience. I didn't do a great job, but I'm working with what I have and at some point will finish editing the footage and post it. One thing I did do was capture on video one of my two falls from the day. At the bottom of the really steep downhill with all the switchbacks that I had run somewhat recklessly and successfully managed to NOT fall on...once I got to the flat terrain at the bottom...I fell. Just a little slip, but my body momentarily was horizontal on the ground. Nothing hurt but my ego, as I was literally moments away from raising my arms in triumph and letting out a whoop of celebration...thump.

The 2nd half of the lap proceeded as expected. My main goal was to only walk on the uphills, and to refrain from convincing myself repeatedly that "this section isn't quiiiite flat, it's still got some incline to it". I would only be lying to myself anyways. Last aid station passes, the brutal hills come and go, along with the associated pain and suffering. Before I knew it, tired as I was, I was finishing my 2nd lap. I was still feeling good overall with 20ish miles down and another 10ish to go. Lap 2 was over 20 minutes slower than lap 1, clocking in at 2:18, but the only thing that was on my mind was the brilliant, amazing fact that I would have a pacer for my last lap!

Allison, whom I run with fairly regularly needed to get in 10 that day anyways, so when she offered to pace me I was thrilled! I've never had a pacer before, and I was excited at the prospect of not having to suffer in silence for the most painful leg of my journey. Having run with her many times before I knew that not only were our paces similar, but she is fun to talk to and was bound to keep me entertained enough to ignore my legs for awhile.

As I rolled into the main aid station, where she had been volunteering all day, she was strapped in and ready to go. I grabbed some more snacks, refilled, stretched, and we set off on my final lap of the day. From the get-go I knew I was going to enjoy this. The conversation got going immediately and the next several miles flew by. Topics ranged from "napilepsy", a rare communicable disease that causes its sufferers to fall asleep while watching movies, to how to practice "safe movie watching" to avoid contracting napilepsy, to zombie films, to why a zombie apocalypse would be the best kind of apocalypse, to "I wonder if the runner behind us thinks we're weird." His name was Jim, and he was quite amused by our discussions. He ended up finishing one spot ahead of me...more on that later.

Running with a pacer, and a good friend at that, was heavenly. My mind was distracted, and the miles passed by pretty quickly. Also, she kept me honest. If the trail was flat and I was walking, she called me out and cracked the whip to get me running again. It was a beautiful arrangement. I told her about where I had fallen on the previous lap and that I'd warn her about the tricky spots before we reached them.

Then we reached them. The first big downhill...I let gravity do the work and when I got to the bottom, I looked back and my pacer was gone. Her shoes had no traction. Not some....not a little....none whatsoever. Each step was a potential assplant/faceplant. She had to take it slow. We got through that section and then the steep downhill switchbacks came. Again I waited for her. At this point, I wasn't even thinking about my time goal because I was enjoying running with her so much...it was just like a Monday at Shawnee Mission Park...no reason to rush. The first time she told me to go ahead without her, I brushed off the suggestion as silly. She made it to the bottom of that hill and laughed at the spot where I had fallen because there really was no reason for a person to fall there.

We crossed the big field by the dam, trudged up the hill, refueled at the aid station, trudged up more hills and then the problems really started. I hadn't considered how treacherous the next few miles would be for her if she had no traction. And upon her insistence, I realized that this was, in fact, a race...and that I did, in fact, have a time goal. A time goal that was rapidly approaching unattainable. The steepest downhill of the entire course...probably a good 30-35 degree angle. In these conditions my choices were either to tentatively and slowly step, carefully evaluating each foot placement for friction potential and substance...or to widen my stance and simply ski down it. I chose the latter and was at the bottom in no time. This was the moment I realized that I was probably going to have to finish my race without her if I wanted to break 7 hours. Her shoes were not equipped to handle these conditions, and I know she wanted me to hit my goal. I held back just enough so that if she fell and needed help, I could still hear her, but once she was past the worst sections, I hit the gas and never looked back.

What happened next shocked me. Knowing that 7 hours was still in reach, and that Allison was back there somewhere rooting for me, I got a 2nd wind that was indescribable. A serious episode of "old man strength" washed over me and for the next few miles, I was an unstoppable ball of fire. With this pace, I just knew I'd make my time. I was even running up some of the easier hills, passing people left and right, and getting pats on the back and motivation from each runner who saw me. I was running with a purpose and it felt great!

I knew that once I passed the final aid station, I would have slightly more than 2 miles left. I made a choice not to stop at that aid station, in the hopes that saving a few extra minutes would give me a little bit more wiggle room once I hit Those Damn Hills. The volunteers welcomed me as I crested the hill and cheered me on as I blazed by them. Exactly 2 miles to the road crossing, one more hill, iron post, then Finish Line! At this point, my Garmin had sadly run low on batteries, but luckily still had enough juice to simply display the time of day. 3 pm was my goal, and boy was it going to be close. I was constantly recalculating the distance left, the remaining time, and the pace I'd need to stay on track. These calculations were not reassuring, especially as the first hill hit like a ton of bricks. BOOM!

I have heard runners talk about hitting the wall. I kinda understood what they were getting at, but it had never quite happened to me the way they described it. Runners who were 100 yards from finishing a marathon who simply could not move another inch. It had to do with the body running out of nutrients to expend. I had experienced severe dehydration, but never anything like that.

That first hill knocked the wind out of me. It insulted me. It knocked me down and kicked me. I experienced the full transition from Flying High to Dead in the Water in roughly 30 seconds. Something was definitely wrong, but I've been in tough spots before. This is where I become my own coach. I actually say this stuff out loud..."Come on..you got this...come on Danny....don't stop now.....just do it....do it.....GO" and I pick up the pace. Only this time, nothing happens. I start again with the self-coaching "You can do this....you're almost there....come on....come on....". Nothing.....I'm running through molasses. I hit the next hill and I can't even muster a power walk up this thing. Every fiber of my being is screaming at my body to respond, to act, to GO! And my body refuses. I flaccidly tramp uphill, crest the top, and instead of resuming running...I am still walking. Still screaming at myself to go, brain in overdrive realizing how fast I'll have to run to hit my time. 10:00 pace....9:00 pace....7 hours slowly and terribly slips out of my grasp. Realizing this, my willpower follows the example set by my body and gives up.

Maybe my watch is wrong? Desperation. The 2nd to last big hill...it's a monster. At this point I'm wobbly on my feet...lightheaded...delirious...sleepwalking. My feet slip and slide in every direction because they have no cooperating leg or core muscles to provide them stability. I am confident I'll make the finish line, but not so confident I won't just pass out when I get there. It even seemed like a pleasant idea...the snow would feel so cool, and I wouldn't have to be upright anymore. Thoughts of hitting my goal are ancient. Jim passes me.

"Hey man, I didn't think I'd see you again. You were hauling ass when you passed the aid station." I mumbled something in reply, but he was already too far ahead to hear or comprehend. I hit the road crossing...the last uphill. I decide that I am absolutely going to run this last section, if only for my own self-respect. I approach the last little hump with the iron post. I desperately lunge for it, like a drowning man reaching for a life-raft. I miss it entirely and 30+ miles combine with gravity and a spent carcass of a body. I fall face first in the snow and I slide backwards down the hill kicking and clawing the whole way.

This moment, in an odd way, defined the race for me. It was clear to me at that time that I had gravely misjudged SOME aspect of this race. As I lay in the snow, I quietly acknowledged this and stood back up. I again reached for the iron bar, this time grasping it firmly and pulled myself up the last hill of the day. I stood as tall as possible and trotted down the hill towards the finish line. I crossed to the sounds of cheers from friends, visions of Ben and Sophie smiling, Matty yelling that he loved me or something, and then I was handed a medal and a sticker. Ben was immediately at my side, holding me upright in just a subtle enough way that it seemed I was doing it on my own. Dick Ross snapped the photo, and you can tell from my expression that Nobody Is Home.

I was able to stumble over to a table and food was brought to me, probably because I must have been as pale as a ghost. Allison finished shortly after me and immediately began overseeing the process of getting me properly rehydrated and nourished.

My last lap took me nearly 3 hours, yet despite the fact that those last 2 miles felt like an eternity, I only missed my time by a few minutes. Final finish time: 7:05:33. I can be disappointed that I didn't hit my goal, but there's no way I can't be incredibly proud of shaving over an HOUR off of my PR for this course.

All told, this was a truly great race for me. I got to see the results of all the miles I've put in on trails over the last 6 months, all the conditioning I've gained by insisting on running even when the weather was inclement(I ran in at least one blizzard), and I learned another big lesson about raceday planning and what happens when you simply don't. I have a proud new 50k PR and now 2 ultramarathons under my belt. Call me crazy, but I am now more excited than ever to venture into the unknown and go for a 40 miler in April.

To all the volunteers, race directors Ben and Sophia, my trusty pacer Allison, and all the friendly faces that make me LOVE trail running and the people who do it....thank you for making this a great day that I will never forget.

Run Toto Run 50k - The Warmup

My alarm clock went off at 5:30 am. I snoozed at least once, but no more than two times. As I rolled out of bed, I got a call from Sophie, asking if I would be so kind as to drop by Starbucks and pick up 2 lbs of coffee before I headed to Wyandotte County Lake Park. After layering up and packing the car, I headed out. I don't drink coffee, and I suspected that walking into a Starbucks and asking for "coffee" at 6 in the morning might elicit strange looks. Sure enough, when I did just that, the Starbucks gal, after a short pause, said simply, "Uh......what kind?" I had no answer for her, and after some apologetic fumbling I managed to get her to recommend something that would be appropriate for a large gathering of cold runners and race volunteers. I paid for two bags of freshly ground beans and left.

I showed up at the race site and got to work. I had volunteered to help out before the race. My assigned task was to be on the Shoe Screw Crew, a name that I made up just now. We were drilling 3/8" screws into the treads of racers' shoes to give them extra(any at all) traction in the snow, ice, and eventual mud quagmires they would be encountering. I was concerned that the morning was considerably colder than I had expected and my fingers were numb from being exposed to the air. I screwed shoes for awhile and the last pair I modified were my own. The very same trail shoes that had first tasted earth the previous July...my first ultramarathon and my first trail run of any kind. Since the day I removed them from their box, they had seen nearly 300 miles of dirt, rocks, roots, mud, and snow. And now they had teeth.

I began to remove my layers in preparation for the impending start of the race. I debated about what to take and what to leave behind. One or two layers of breath thermo? It was awful cold, but it was supposed to warm up considerably and I didn't want to be caught having to carry extra crap around for too long. I opted for one breath thermo layer, and I added a pair of smart wool socks. I chose wisely. Once the sun came up, I was comfortable all day long.

In the midst of all this picking and choosing....oh what to wear, what to wear!....Sophie walks by and says, "Danny! Hurry up, the race is about to start!" Shit. I see the large group of people consisting of the 20 milers and the 50k-ers. They are all walking towards a particular nondescript patch of snow-covered ground, so I grab my hydration pack, say goodbye to some friends, and join the crowd.

I remember my first trail race, which began maybe 30 yards from where we were standing. The same atmosphere of warm welcoming people and friendly chit-chat warmed me, despite the sub-freezing temperatures and the cold snow. Bad Ben was standing in front of a crowd of 300-some runners giving the pre-race instructions. I love how informal and laid back these events are, yet they always seem so professional because they go off without a hitch. The pre-race instructions consist of "Hey guys...follow the flags...if you're not winning and you're running on fresh snow, turn around...if you want to drop out, tell so-and-so, otherwise we'll think you're dead and send out a search party....ok....ready, set, go."

And with that...we went.

Having attempted this distance once before, on roughly the same course, I was excited to see how far I had come since July. My previous time was 8 hours and 10 minutes, and I was hoping to run sub-7 hours. The pack slowly surged to life and began to move forward.

Giddy up.

WyCo WhyNot?

Here I sit in the dead of winter and square in the middle of the nursing school backhand bitch-slap known as our OB/Peds rotation. Entering this program I really had to temper my athletic aspirations(and respirations) due to the expected shit-load of classwork I expected that I'd be busy with. I was not incorrect in my assessment that I'd be overwhelmed by school, but I was altogether off-the-mark when I assumed I'd have no time to run. November was by far the most stressful month of the entire year for me, yet I still managed to log my highest running mileage in that same month(85 miles). Coincidence? Not remotely.

I've learned these last few months, that running isn't just something I like to do to blow off steam, or do because it makes me feel good. Put quite simply, I cannot live without it. In November, when I was on the brink of depression and going flat-out batty, running was my day-to-day saving grace. Did my life feel like it was spinning out of control? Hell yes. But I was able to rock-out 30+ miles in a single weekend and for some reason, it gave me a boost in whatever thing I was severely lacking that was causing all of my problems. Confidence? Motivation? Focus? A fucking break from reality? All of the above? I'll never know for sure, but it saved my ass and saw me through to the end of the semester.

December and January mileage stayed pretty high as well. And for good reason, as I am registered for my 2nd ultramarathon this weekend. Another 50k at WyCo. Every trail runner I know says that running at WyCo is harder than running anywhere else that isn't actually in the mountains. So why do I do my long races there? Because I'm an idiot.

No, I'm being serious. Let me explain...

My first 50k was the Psycho Psummer 50k last July at WyCo. I was completely unprepared in just about every way. I had never run trails before, much less the hardest trails that can be found in these parts. Check! I had not specifically trained for this distance or this race. Check! The race was 2 weeks after the biggest race of my life, Ironman Coeur d'Alene, and I was unaware that the average human needed more than 13 days to recover from 140.6 miles. Check!

Read the full report if you like: http://lowandtall.blogspot.com/2010/08/psycho-psummer-50k-exercise-in-humility.html

It was completely idiotic, but I finished. When I registered for this race, I optimistically clicked on the 50k option, with the full knowledge that I could always drop down to the 20 mile option if I wasn't "feelin' it" on raceday. Seems like a decent plan, right?

Except I know it won't go down that way. The way I see it, worst case scenario, I am exactly as unprepared for this race as I was last July. Best case scenario, I've got to be a little bit better off this time. At this point, I've got 250+ miles of trail experience under my belt(technically, under my Mizuno trail shoes). I can knock out 10-15 miles on any given day and not be completely debilitated physically. I am not in recovery mode from any previous athletic endeavor. The only thing that is similar to my previous 50k is that I have not trained for this distance, nor have I trained for this race. Sure, I've THOUGHT about this race a lot during my weekly runs, but my mileage is nowhere near what it should be for a race that hurts as much as a full marathon at the HALFWAY point.

With all this in mind, I have pretty much set my mind to finishing the full distance. Why? Because, as I mentioned earlier, I am an idiot.

I can already see what's going to happen. The 50k course consists of three 10 mile loops, and the bailout point would be after the 2nd lap. I'll roll into the main aid station in some amount of pain, likely a large amount. I'll nom on some snacks, and I'll ignore the question "Should I stop?" I know from previous experience that if I start the last lap, I'll finish it, even if it involves crawling. In snow.

Perhaps I'm being foolish, but perhaps this is what it's all about. Setting goals, even challenging ones, and stepping up to the plate despite any doubts you might have. A brief conversation with Sophie earlier tonight convinced me that instead of running the Free State trail marathon in April, perhaps I'd attempt my first 40 miler instead. Come on...it's only another 9 miles...what's the difference?

Depending on how this Saturday goes, I may write a race report, but I might not. It won't be my first ANYTHING, and you can never tell which races will be memorable and meaningful, and which races end up just being races. I'm hoping for memorable and meaningful!

"What one man can do, another can do."

Thoughts on our national anthem...

So yeah, Christina Aguilera muffed the words to The Star Spangled Banner. While we've been busy lampooning her, remembering other famously butchered anthem performances(Roseanne Barr?) and remembering the precious few that were truly inspired and beautiful performances, I've been thinking a lot about the song itself. Vocally it is incredibly demanding, as its melody puts the ranges of singers to the test. I think many singers take this as a challenge to their diva egos(Divagos?) and turn it into a pissing contest, when it really should just be sung thoughtfully and respectfully...and if we're lucky, in tune.

That got me thinking about the words to the song itself, which as an instrumentalist, I hardly EVER do. It occurred to me that I had spent the majority of my life just singing along, but never really thinking about the story the song was telling. Just like the Pledge of Allegiance which, when recited in our minds, is always in the voices of 2nd graders in the most monotonous manner possible. Why is that? Of course, 2nd graders don't really grasp the meaning of the concepts discussed in the Pledge, but they memorize it and recite it verbatim every morning for the majority of grade school.

I believe that the national anthem is no different, which leads me to suspect that a large percentage of Americans have probably never even contemplated the words that they are singing, but that they will no doubt chastise any singer for forgetting. Several years ago, I actually took a quiet moment to contemplate these lyrics for myself. Do you want to know what I realized? The words to our proud national anthem are confusing as hell! Grammatically vague and seemingly written in Ye Olde Englishe, it's no wonder nobody understands what the hell they're singing about.

Let's examine the first few lines..."O say can you see, by the dawn's early light, what so proudly we hailed, at the twilight's last gleaming..."

First of all, I'm almost certain this is a question. Almost. Second of all, can somebody please come to the front of the class and circle the SUBJECT of this sentence is? No...you can't. And that's because the subject of this sentence isn't in this sentence. In fact, we are vaguely referring to our country's flag, but without actually coming right out and mentioning it. That tends to confuse people, when their sentences don't have subjects. I'll point out that the next line isn't any better. In effect, our national anthem is a series of backwardly written run-on sentences, very few of them actually mentioning the flag that the song is about. When you examine the lyrics, you are STUNNED to find out that the very last line isn't even a declaration about how brave and free we are and where our flag waves. It is another question. "O say does that star spangled banner yet wave o'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?"

..................................

I don't know...does it? In a REAL Amurrca, no blue-blooded, God-fearing flag-waver would sit idly by while some sissy named Francis wrote us a national anthem that was so unsure about how awesome we as a nation truly are. Undoubtedly, a congressional mandate would, at the very least, intervene and force the inclusion of a "Fuck Yeah!" to end the song, casting away all doubt as to the size of America's balls.

So our national anthem, while it is truly a beautiful piece of poetry set to a fantastic melody, simply isn't approachable by the lay-person today. The grammatical prowess of our great nation just isn't up to the task of grasping the literary backflips this song throws at us, especially when all we grew up with was "Oops, I did it again". It's simple, and nobody is unclear as to what Britney was trying to tell us. She played with our hearts....again....and she is sarcastically apologetic about it because she thinks we're naive. Even 2nd graders can grasp that.

So what's the answer? Well, we're certainly not getting a new anthem, and I wouldn't agree to that anyways. Tradition is an important part of who we are, and I can't imagine the redneck revolt we'd have on our hands if anybody even suggested the possibility that we were too dumb for our own national anthem and that we needed a new one. I've decided instead to rewrite the words to The Star Spangled Banner. Not to be sung, of course,but just as a kind of a cheat sheet for anybody unsure about what it means. We could distribute them at sporting events and Nascar races(yeah, there's a difference). Here goes nothing...

Hey, can you see the flag that we very proudly salute, both against the sunrise and the sunset?
Which flag's broad stripes and bright stars were gallantly streaming over the ramparts we were watching during that perilous fight?
The light from all the explosions of bombs and various artillery shells illuminated our flag during the night, proving that it was still there(and therefore, that we had not been defeated).
Hey, does that flag still wave over the land of the free and the home of the Chiefs? *

....um.....I mean....the brave. I mean...does it?

......................................

I give up.


*Technically, if we're referring to Native-Americans, this IS the home of the Chiefs, but unfortunately they've been killed, mistreated, herded into reservations, and downgraded to 2nd class citizens. But we gave them casinos, so it's all cool right?

Common observations/questions concerning time...

1. It is on my side, yes it is.
2. We're gonna go back in it.
3. It flies.
4. I don't have it.
5. It is important to be on it.
6. It is running out.
7. It is money.
8. What will happen to us in it?
9. It starts now, baby. It starts now.
10. Let's kill some of it.
11. It keeps marching on, and it is still marching on.
12. It slips away.
13. That drummer can't keep it.
14. I have a problem managing it.
15. I have no concept of it.
16. Rate times it equals distance.
17. If I could save it in a bottle...
18. He's got too much of it on his hands.
19. It's just a matter of it.
20. The world will always welcome lovers, as it goes by.

Thanks for reading. You're all getting old.