So here we are, December 31st, the final day of 2011. A wise man does not dwell on the past, but occasional reflection seems both wise and enlightening. I'm going to take a few paragraphs to recap my year for my own benefit. If you enjoy reading about it, even better.
What have I been up to for the past 364 days? Well, I'll tell you.
I spent a good chunk of it becoming a nurse. I graduated from my BSN program in August, took NCLEX on October 5th, and then on October 6th I found out that I had passed AND I got a job offer. I began working in November, and I currently work the night shift in the Medical ICU at St. Luke's in Kansas City. What's more, I couldn't be happier about where I am.
As an athlete, my longest run to date consisted of the 40 miler at the Free State Trail Runs. As far as mileage, in 2011 I ran 604 miles, biked 951 miles, and swam 19 miles. I also experienced my first "bad race" that was so demoralizing that I needed over a month to recuperate, both physically and motivationally. Additionally, another 50k, a half marathon with my dad, my 3rd half ironman, my first trail half marathon, and a slew of smaller trail races.
Far more gratifying than my own accomplishments, however, was seeing many of my friends either achieve great things or set themselves on the path to do so by becoming active. This year's first-time Ironman finishers include Dustin J, Jeff S, and Carin C. A few good friends did their first marathons, like Indi M, Katie L, and my brother Chris L(also his first half Ironman). Several people have completed first half-marathons like Rachel P, Jamie T, and my father David L. Others have completed their first triathlons like Megan M and Ellie M. Others still have taken those first important steps out their front doors and decided to become active individuals, like Brian and Stephanie S, Christina M who is currently crushing her Couch-To-5k program, and my other brother Mike L, who not only quit smoking, but took up cycling. To these people and countless others, I send a hearty congratulations and wishes for more of the same in 2012. Kill the Bear, one and all!
All in all, 2011 was a tough year in many ways, mostly due to school. However, it did seem that all the hardship, doubt, and effort was pointing me in a direction I wanted to go, and now that I appear to have arrived at that destination, I know it was all worth it. I have a job that I love. I have a family that is prospering. I love a girl who thinks I'm worth a damn. I have a body that continues to function well enough that I can continue to challenge my physical and mental limits. Finally, I have a plan for the future, and enough excitement about that plan that I can hardly believe how lucky I am.
I see myself becoming the happy, mature adult that I never dreamed I'd be. I have amazing friends who support me and inspire me. I am becoming less cynical about the world in some ways, but I worry a lot about the world as well. I try not to let it bother me, especially because most of those things are well out of my control. Mostly, I am once again astounded and thrilled that this year was better than the year before it. I wonder in the back of my mind when things will stop getting better, because what goes up invariably must go down, though I am too busy enjoying life to dwell on that notion.
For the past two years, I've written scathing rebukes of the notion of New Year's resolutions, and this year I have not changed my position. It's hard to say more without becoming a broken record, but I can only wish that people didn't assign self-improvement to ONE day of the calendar year. People are filled with this refreshing sense that everything resets on January 1st and that they can start anew once more. Little do they realize that the Reset button is always right in front of their nose, they just refuse to believe they can press it whenever they want. Earlier this year, some time in April I think, I decided to become a regular flosser. I succeeded for several months before I fell back out of the routine. Did I fail? I suppose it depends on whether or not I intend to try again. If I give up forever, then I have indeed failed. However, that is not my intention, and plaque still trembles in fear when I remember to reach for that floss before bed.
January 1st is the day after December 31st, and both days are equally opportune for making yourself a better person. And all the days in between.
Be good to yourselves and realize that there is an entire world of possibility beyond your perceived limitations, and if you look past them, you will see it.
Make today better than yesterday, every day.
Danny
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
Lessons in Bar Etiquette: #249...The Bartender's Name
Hi! Are you a bar customer on a busy night? Do you need a drink? Let's run through some scenarios involving knowledge of the bartender's name to demonstrate some key principles of bar etiquette. Come along and bring your mind's eye for this magical journey!
Situation: You do not know my name and would like a drink.
Appropriate action: Wait patiently. You may not realize it, but in the 2 seconds it took me to glance up, I did see you and I now know you want a drink. I will get to you.
Situation: You want to know my name(for whatever reason)
Appropriate action: When I get around to serving you, you may politely ask my name along with providing your drink order. I will likely make an on-the-spot judgement of you to determine whether or not you're a "yeller". If you seem on the level, I will tell you my name. If not, you'll get a fake name. Something that I can easily ignore. No offense, of course, but I'll still know you want a drink, and it won't make any difference to you.
Situation: You know my name.
Appropriate action: Use my name in situations like "Thanks for the drink, Danny!", or "Nice to meet you, Danny!" or "Congratulations on whatever thing you recently accomplished, Danny!" etc....
Keep in mind that I did not include the phrase "Danny, I would like a drink." Which leads us to...
Situation: You know my name and you want a drink.
Appropriate action: Wait patiently. As before, it won't take me long to see you waiting. Do not yell my name. Since I am already aware you want a drink, this serves only to demonstrate to me that you think you shouldn't have to wait your turn. This also makes me less inclined to want to serve you and may lead to a longer than normal wait for your drink.
Situation: Somebody asks you "What is the bartender's name?"
Appropriate action: Regardless of whether you know my name or not, you should simply say "I don't know." The reason for this is because the question "What is the bartender's name?" is almost without fail followed by "HEY DANNY! CAN I GET A BLAH BLAH BLAH AND COKE?" These people are referred to as "yellers". They are lumped in with the glass-tappers, the money/hand wavers, the bar pounders, and the whistlers. Of this group of very special people, the yellers are perhaps the most annoying, and usually get to wait the longest for service because of their brilliant contribution to my bar atmosphere.
Situation: You are my friend, you know my name, and you want a drink.
Appropriate action: Wait patiently. If you think you're my friend and are under the impression that yelling my name to get a drink faster is appropriate, you're probably not actually my friend. You're at best an acquaintance, and more than likely a random person who just asked the person next to you what my name is. You're also a "yeller". The difference between you and an actual friend of mine is that anybody who is actually friends with me knows not to yell to get my attention. And they probably tip better than you as well. And you wonder why they always seem to get served before you.
Situation: You do not know my name and would like a drink.
Appropriate action: Wait patiently. You may not realize it, but in the 2 seconds it took me to glance up, I did see you and I now know you want a drink. I will get to you.
Situation: You want to know my name(for whatever reason)
Appropriate action: When I get around to serving you, you may politely ask my name along with providing your drink order. I will likely make an on-the-spot judgement of you to determine whether or not you're a "yeller". If you seem on the level, I will tell you my name. If not, you'll get a fake name. Something that I can easily ignore. No offense, of course, but I'll still know you want a drink, and it won't make any difference to you.
Situation: You know my name.
Appropriate action: Use my name in situations like "Thanks for the drink, Danny!", or "Nice to meet you, Danny!" or "Congratulations on whatever thing you recently accomplished, Danny!" etc....
Keep in mind that I did not include the phrase "Danny, I would like a drink." Which leads us to...
Situation: You know my name and you want a drink.
Appropriate action: Wait patiently. As before, it won't take me long to see you waiting. Do not yell my name. Since I am already aware you want a drink, this serves only to demonstrate to me that you think you shouldn't have to wait your turn. This also makes me less inclined to want to serve you and may lead to a longer than normal wait for your drink.
Situation: Somebody asks you "What is the bartender's name?"
Appropriate action: Regardless of whether you know my name or not, you should simply say "I don't know." The reason for this is because the question "What is the bartender's name?" is almost without fail followed by "HEY DANNY! CAN I GET A BLAH BLAH BLAH AND COKE?" These people are referred to as "yellers". They are lumped in with the glass-tappers, the money/hand wavers, the bar pounders, and the whistlers. Of this group of very special people, the yellers are perhaps the most annoying, and usually get to wait the longest for service because of their brilliant contribution to my bar atmosphere.
Situation: You are my friend, you know my name, and you want a drink.
Appropriate action: Wait patiently. If you think you're my friend and are under the impression that yelling my name to get a drink faster is appropriate, you're probably not actually my friend. You're at best an acquaintance, and more than likely a random person who just asked the person next to you what my name is. You're also a "yeller". The difference between you and an actual friend of mine is that anybody who is actually friends with me knows not to yell to get my attention. And they probably tip better than you as well. And you wonder why they always seem to get served before you.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
For Leslie...
Ok, cease the activities you're currently engaged in, because I am about to spoil what you are used to hearing and seeing from those of my type. I don't look normal, but I still draw salary and I pray that audiences at large are prepared for me. Come closer, I have come to replace the former idiot in your metropolitan area, and I am musically accompanied by Digital Underground. You should consider all of your Hennessy effectively forfeit, and now I will proceed with an introduction. My name is Humpty. Make sure you enunciate it correctly with the proper "umpty" sound. My message to females is that I like to engage in intercourse with you. To other Top 10 hip-hop artists, I would suggest you step aside. Similar to Humpty Dumpty of nursery rhymes, I expect that you will not literally, but figuratively fall, or become embarrassed when you hear my songs on the radio. I like to rhyme words, I like good beats, I'm uniquely sassy, and I don't like runny oatmeal. I'm getting tired of rap that references gang activity, so I occasionally act silly. I'll consume whatever snack items you have lying around including, but not limited to licorice and crackers. Excuse me, portly woman...come here I want to see how you react if I gently stroke you with a feather. Yes, I did just use the word portly...if you'll notice, I am thin, but a disparity in body types has never been a barrier to my willingness to engage in coitus with a person. I'm a bizarre individual, I prefer women who have "the boom", indeed one time I had sex in the restroom at a Burger King. I'm mentally unstable, give me a chance to impress you. Some claim that I am unattractive, but I remain unaffected. I still copulate with many women, and there is even a dance that bears my name.
And that's just one damn verse....
And that's just one damn verse....
Monday, May 2, 2011
How to change your life
Slowly...one step at a time.
I have written a lot about setting goals, working towards them, and achieving them, but all those goals were athletically oriented. You can read about all that crap over HERE at my racing blog, starting with my inaugural post and mission statement.
But what about all the REST of the stuff I'm trying to accomplish in life? Not everything requires sweat and hours of grueling exercise. Well, I set a goal to become a nurse and I'm less than 100 days from fulfilling that goal. Some titles I can currently apply to myself include, but are not limited to the following: Ironman, marathoner, ultramarathoner, soon-to-be Registered Nurse and Bachelor of Science in Nursing. Ok...what about smaller stuff?
How about this one.....flosser?
Uh.....shit. I admit that I have never successfully been able to pick up the habit of regular flossing...not for more than a month at least. I try to be living proof of the benefits of taking care of one's body, but I can't even take care of my teeth! Granted, I've been incredibly lucky. I've had only one cavity, despite the fact that I've probably flossed less than 50 times in my entire life. I've also had multiple 3-4 year stretches between seeing dentists. I'm not counting on that luck to continue indefinitely though. Just last week I finally understood why people hate dentists. I had my 6 month cleaning and when the lady went to start looking for stuff to scrape, she found some....a LOT of it. AND IT HURT!
So once again I've decided that it's high time I became a flosser.
"It's as hard to quit smoking as it is to start flossing." - Mitch Hedburg
It seems extreme, but there may be some truth to it. Putting aside physiological dependence, quitting a habit is the same as picking up a habit...they are both lifestyle changes that require the same commitments from an individual. A person must first solidify in their mind that they are ready to make a change. My past failures at the flossing habit have been defeated early by a lackadaisical attitude of "Gee, I should floss more." Next, a person must form a realistic plan of action. I never once came close to this step. Next, you have to actually follow through with this plan and hold yourself accountable. I read somewhere about a study that determined the average person needed to repeat an activity 60+ days in a row before it would become a daily habit. Once a habit is formed, then you have succeeded.
I have decided that flossing every day is unrealistic for me. The dental hygienist mentioned to me that plaque starts to harden after 48 hours, so I have decided that if I can floss every other day, I will be happy...and definitely better off than flossing NO days. I have resolved to make Monday, Wednesday, and Friday my flossing days. I am proud to report that Week 1 of Project: Danny Becomes a Flosser plan has been a resounding success. I have committed myself to achieving this goal, so now before I go to bed there is no debating about whether or not I can skip it or put it off until tomorrow. If it's MWF, I'm f*cking flossing. End of story.
Literally...that's the end of the story. Wish me luck!
I have written a lot about setting goals, working towards them, and achieving them, but all those goals were athletically oriented. You can read about all that crap over HERE at my racing blog, starting with my inaugural post and mission statement.
But what about all the REST of the stuff I'm trying to accomplish in life? Not everything requires sweat and hours of grueling exercise. Well, I set a goal to become a nurse and I'm less than 100 days from fulfilling that goal. Some titles I can currently apply to myself include, but are not limited to the following: Ironman, marathoner, ultramarathoner, soon-to-be Registered Nurse and Bachelor of Science in Nursing. Ok...what about smaller stuff?
How about this one.....flosser?
Uh.....shit. I admit that I have never successfully been able to pick up the habit of regular flossing...not for more than a month at least. I try to be living proof of the benefits of taking care of one's body, but I can't even take care of my teeth! Granted, I've been incredibly lucky. I've had only one cavity, despite the fact that I've probably flossed less than 50 times in my entire life. I've also had multiple 3-4 year stretches between seeing dentists. I'm not counting on that luck to continue indefinitely though. Just last week I finally understood why people hate dentists. I had my 6 month cleaning and when the lady went to start looking for stuff to scrape, she found some....a LOT of it. AND IT HURT!
So once again I've decided that it's high time I became a flosser.
"It's as hard to quit smoking as it is to start flossing." - Mitch Hedburg
It seems extreme, but there may be some truth to it. Putting aside physiological dependence, quitting a habit is the same as picking up a habit...they are both lifestyle changes that require the same commitments from an individual. A person must first solidify in their mind that they are ready to make a change. My past failures at the flossing habit have been defeated early by a lackadaisical attitude of "Gee, I should floss more." Next, a person must form a realistic plan of action. I never once came close to this step. Next, you have to actually follow through with this plan and hold yourself accountable. I read somewhere about a study that determined the average person needed to repeat an activity 60+ days in a row before it would become a daily habit. Once a habit is formed, then you have succeeded.
I have decided that flossing every day is unrealistic for me. The dental hygienist mentioned to me that plaque starts to harden after 48 hours, so I have decided that if I can floss every other day, I will be happy...and definitely better off than flossing NO days. I have resolved to make Monday, Wednesday, and Friday my flossing days. I am proud to report that Week 1 of Project: Danny Becomes a Flosser plan has been a resounding success. I have committed myself to achieving this goal, so now before I go to bed there is no debating about whether or not I can skip it or put it off until tomorrow. If it's MWF, I'm f*cking flossing. End of story.
Literally...that's the end of the story. Wish me luck!
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
The Cruel Cycle of Grocery-Having...
Stage 1: Have groceries
You have just gotten home from the grocery store and you put everything away. You feel so proud that you have done the responsible thing instead of putting it off and ordering a pizza out of laziness. You are also probably tired from this whole "modern day hunter/gatherer" ordeal, so you're not quite ready to choose a meal to cook and prepare it. In fact, there are so many god-damned options, you are having trouble even deciding what you want to eat. So you put it off. Cooking takes so much time...GOSH!
You eat a banana before bed.
Stage 2: Grocery supply begins to dwindle.
All of the really good meals have been cooked and eaten. The healthy stuff is still ok to eat, but it's now or never. The problem is that you aren't necessarily craving any of the things you still have left...DEFINITELY not the healthy stuff. And going to the grocery store is absolutely NOT an option, because there's still food in the house.
You eat the last box of Mac and Cheese.
Stage 3: Groceries are gone
There are no more complete meals left. The once-fresh veggies are shriveled and you are too ashamed to throw them away just yet. You're damn sure not going to eat them though. All you have left is half a serving of plain pasta(no sauce), a can of tuna(no bread), some tortillas(no cheese, chicken, salsa, or anything that would be put on a tortilla), and an egg of dubious age. You are completely disheartened and disenfranchised with groceries, so you're not going to the store...besides...it's 9 pm and you haven't eaten dinner yet.
You eat the plain tortillas....and furthermore for the next week or two, you order pizza, fast food, or let your 'opportunivore' instincts from your college days kick in. You will eat anything. After enough time, you somehow muster the strength and courage to visit the grocery store again.
Repeat.
You have just gotten home from the grocery store and you put everything away. You feel so proud that you have done the responsible thing instead of putting it off and ordering a pizza out of laziness. You are also probably tired from this whole "modern day hunter/gatherer" ordeal, so you're not quite ready to choose a meal to cook and prepare it. In fact, there are so many god-damned options, you are having trouble even deciding what you want to eat. So you put it off. Cooking takes so much time...GOSH!
You eat a banana before bed.
Stage 2: Grocery supply begins to dwindle.
All of the really good meals have been cooked and eaten. The healthy stuff is still ok to eat, but it's now or never. The problem is that you aren't necessarily craving any of the things you still have left...DEFINITELY not the healthy stuff. And going to the grocery store is absolutely NOT an option, because there's still food in the house.
You eat the last box of Mac and Cheese.
Stage 3: Groceries are gone
There are no more complete meals left. The once-fresh veggies are shriveled and you are too ashamed to throw them away just yet. You're damn sure not going to eat them though. All you have left is half a serving of plain pasta(no sauce), a can of tuna(no bread), some tortillas(no cheese, chicken, salsa, or anything that would be put on a tortilla), and an egg of dubious age. You are completely disheartened and disenfranchised with groceries, so you're not going to the store...besides...it's 9 pm and you haven't eaten dinner yet.
You eat the plain tortillas....and furthermore for the next week or two, you order pizza, fast food, or let your 'opportunivore' instincts from your college days kick in. You will eat anything. After enough time, you somehow muster the strength and courage to visit the grocery store again.
Repeat.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Quick thought....a drive-home metaphor...
This will likely offend somebody, so I guess there's that.
On my drive home I was thinking about old age and dying and what it would be like to look back on your life and think to yourself, "Man, I really did everything I wanted to do and I'm ready to say goodbye and turn out the lights." It was at that point that I wondered if I'd still have that lingering fear of the unknown, of death...and of the so-called "afterlife" that I don't believe in.
Will I fold and choose a "god" to swear allegiance to out of weakness? Out of fear of retribution for not living my life for that particular god's glory? I feel like if I do things the way I plan on doing them, I would honestly be able to look any god in the face at judgement and say "I lived a good life, and I didn't even have to be frightened by the prospect of burning in hell to do it. I just did it because I knew it was the right way to live. I learned to love, to empathize, to explore the world you allegedly created, to help my fellow man, and to do all things as justly and conscientiously as possible."
If that god still decides to condemn me because I did not do all of those things with them in mind, then so be it. But I doubt any supposedly omnipotent god could really punish somebody who was only living the way they were created to live. Unfortunately, not a single religion has a god like this.
Which leads me to my thought of the night. A metaphor for why I think religion is absolutely stupid. Not spirituality, mind you. Religion.
Religion is stupid because it would have us believe that a man could cure cancer, but it wouldn't matter if he was wearing the wrong color lab coat when he did it.
Good night.
On my drive home I was thinking about old age and dying and what it would be like to look back on your life and think to yourself, "Man, I really did everything I wanted to do and I'm ready to say goodbye and turn out the lights." It was at that point that I wondered if I'd still have that lingering fear of the unknown, of death...and of the so-called "afterlife" that I don't believe in.
Will I fold and choose a "god" to swear allegiance to out of weakness? Out of fear of retribution for not living my life for that particular god's glory? I feel like if I do things the way I plan on doing them, I would honestly be able to look any god in the face at judgement and say "I lived a good life, and I didn't even have to be frightened by the prospect of burning in hell to do it. I just did it because I knew it was the right way to live. I learned to love, to empathize, to explore the world you allegedly created, to help my fellow man, and to do all things as justly and conscientiously as possible."
If that god still decides to condemn me because I did not do all of those things with them in mind, then so be it. But I doubt any supposedly omnipotent god could really punish somebody who was only living the way they were created to live. Unfortunately, not a single religion has a god like this.
Which leads me to my thought of the night. A metaphor for why I think religion is absolutely stupid. Not spirituality, mind you. Religion.
Religion is stupid because it would have us believe that a man could cure cancer, but it wouldn't matter if he was wearing the wrong color lab coat when he did it.
Good night.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
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
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
Friday, February 25, 2011
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
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
Thursday, February 24, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, February 18, 2011
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!
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
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.
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
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."
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."
Monday, February 7, 2011
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?
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
..................................
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?
Thursday, February 3, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
To Whom It May Concern...
(Copy/Paste from Facebook on 1/8/11 in response to Tuscon shootings)
A series of brief letters that seem relevant today. Beginning with my status update from earlier today...
Dear America,
Regardless of outcome, can we please not make this about gun control? This is about the huge chasm that has formed between people in our country due to their political beliefs and the hatred that is resulting from it. Can we please use this as an opportunity to come together and talk sensibly again, not as an opportunity to point fingers and incite further hatred?
Dear Republicans/Tea Party/others who often get grouped in with them,
I don't hate you. I disagree with you politically. I voted for President Obama and tend to agree with most of his policies. I do not believe that these policies will destroy our country, but I respect your concern and belief that they are not in our country's best interest. I firmly believe that if there was less misinformation from politicians and pundits on BOTH sides, we'd find that our differences are a lot less drastic and a lot simpler than the major news networks like to portray.
Dear gun owners/NRA,
Today a gun was involved in a prominent act of violence. Many will immediately call for new gun control measures, but I do not agree with these knee jerk reactions. Laws do not heal wounds, but some find that they cannot cope with a tragedy unless "something is done about this". People work that way. I DO NOT want your guns taken away. I don't think Obama wants that either. Even with strict gun control laws, people who want to kill will still find ways to get guns. As proof of my point, look at our country's track record of preventing illegal immigrants and drugs from getting into the country. Guns would be no different. Keep your guns.
Dear Sarah Palin,
I do not believe, at this time, that you are responsible for the violence today. I do question the language you and others affiliated with you use. It is not directly encouraging violence, but it could be easily interpreted as such. I believe it is careless to use language like this, especially given the current political climate and the high tensions that are present among Americans. I don't want you to apologize, because I don't think it's your fault. However, I do think it would be an incredible gesture for you to change some of your signage and perhaps make a statement to your supporters that this sort of thing is absolutely reprehensible and NOT the type of action you wish of them. Encouraging more bipartisan cooperation among the average American would gain you much respect from myself and others.
Dear Liberals/left-wing/etc,
I tend to agree with you politically, but not always. You may feel inclined to start pointing fingers at Republicans, Tea Party supporters, and people like Sarah Palin. I do not blame you for having this inclination, however it is becoming apparent that the shooter had no affiliation with any of these groups or people. The majority of the people on the other side of the political coin are just like us. They are honest, hardworking Americans who just want what is best for the country. Some of them are educated, some are not. Just like us. We all come from the same place, but we're all coming from different places, if that makes any sense.
Dear Media,
I've had a bone to pick with you for quite awhile. I am disappointed that you chose money over journalistic integrity, and now the American public has no reason to trust you anymore. Gone are the days when we could watch the news and simply trust that what they were telling us was the best and most accurate information available. It is sad that I can watch MSNBC and be told one thing, and then switch over to Fox News and hear something completely contrary. It is sad that the number of trusted news sources is rapidly dwindling. You are partly responsible for the fact that nobody really knows where to find real facts anymore. You lost our trust and I don't believe you will ever get it back.
Dear conspiracy theorists,
Don't. Just don't. Sure...it's possible that this allegedly unaffiliated shooter may have been secretly hired and directed by a political organization to murder an opponent. I doubt that's the case though. If this were the case, I would trust our law enforcement to uncover such a plot and there would be proof rather than indiscriminate speculation.
Dear everybody,
Let's be sensible. Let's care for one another. Tragedies happen, regardless of what policies are in place. People shoot each other every day, but we only heard about this one because somebody famous/important was involved. If you're liberal, respect a conservative. If you're conservative, respect a liberal. We're not enemies.
Thank you!
Sincerely,
Danny Loental
Monday, January 3, 2011
Something that's actually important...
A few weeks ago, I did something that I've been meaning to do pretty much since the time I became aware of such an opportunity. The time that has lapsed between that time and when I finally decided to take action and do this thing is embarrassingly long. I'm talking well over a decade. What took me so long to do this simple thing that took me MAYBE 15 minutes tops.
I like that I'm building suspense/mystery as to what the hell I'm talking about, but unfortunately to continue without being specific would be difficult to write and would make no sense whatsoever to anyone attempting to read.
I registered to be an organ donor. Sure, I already had the little heart symbol on my driver's license, but all that does is remind any potential emergency personnel to check to see if you're registered to donate organs. You actually have to register with an organ donation service (ex. Missouri Organ Donor Registry) for it to actually be put into practice.
So, why did it take me so long? I have long prided myself as a man of action over words. But why did I wait over 10 years to do this after I decided that I'd like to give my organs to somebody who needed them in the event I became too dead to fully appreciate their use?
I feel like I've been pretty comfortable conceiving of and discussing my own death that it really shouldn't have been a barrier to me. But it was. I want to convince myself that it was just something that I never got around to, kept slipping my mind, or some other hollow excuse, but in my mind there really was no excuse for waiting for so long.
It took an incredibly thoughtful and poignant presentation on End of Life issues by some of my nursing school classmates to really give me the slap-in-the-face that I needed. A good firm kick in the pants that, as cliche as it sounds, it really is a matter of life and death. Maybe not to me, but to somebody else. A woman in my program lost her teenage daughter to a car crash 2 years ago. This girl had done what I hadn't...what I couldn't. She was already registered to give her organs, and when that day unexpectedly came, she was already set up to give the enormous gift of life to a handful of people she had never met. Her mother spoke to us, heartbroken yet proud as she could be, and it was a splash of cold water in my face.
How careless have I been for the past decade or so? 5-6 years of rock climbing, a full decade of cycling, various other haphazardly ventured activities, plus the ever-present "hit by a bus crossing the street" risk. I can think of specific instances where a slip of the foot, or a narrowly avoided bicycle crash could have all too easily resulted in PVS for yours truly. For non-medical folks...PVS=Permanent Vegetative State. Brain dead. Nobody home. A functioning body with a face, but not a person. I know that should I ever end up as such, I would want life support pulled without a doubt. And until now, it wouldn't have resulted in anything good whatsoever. Those days are over, and I'm extremely happy that I lived long enough to make this important decision for myself, but even more importantly: for the next name on that waiting list who might just get another chance at life.
A girl I went to high school with is alive because somebody else made this decision and helped her beat cancer with a new liver. That was over a year ago. Why didn't I do it then? It would have been so easy. Do I really think I'm invincible?
Apparently so. Despite my attitude towards death, lack of religious beliefs, and everything I wished I were, I still didn't do it. The fact is, it's damn hard to face your own death, even the possibility of it. To admit that I, just like everyone else, could just up and die some day...it takes some serious stones. The more I get into nursing, the more I realize how fragile human life is. Though I never get sick, I don't bruise, and have a pretty decent capacity for self-inflicted suffering in the form of exercise...I honestly don't know when my number will come up. I recently heard of a 30 year old man, avid runner, otherwise extremely healthy, who was diagnosed with left ventricular hypertrophy right after it killed him. You can never know.
The point I'm coming to is this: Will you give up your organs once you can no longer use them? Are you too uncomfortable to even contemplate such a decision? Will you at least consider the idea? Not for me, but for those out there who are fighting for their lives and hoping for a fighting chance in hell? https://www.missouriorgandonor.com/odpublicsite/Default.aspx
In addition to registering to donate my organs, I also have begun the process to add myself to the national bone marrow registry. This one is even easier. Sign up, take a swab of your cheek and mail it in, and then wait. If you're lucky enough to have the opportunity to be somebody's match, there is a somewhat painful procedure involved in donating bone marrow, but to me I would gladly endure this to save a life. http://www.marrow.org/
Do it!
Next on my list of death-related things I've been meaning to do: Fill out an Advanced Directive.
Thanks for reading!
I like that I'm building suspense/mystery as to what the hell I'm talking about, but unfortunately to continue without being specific would be difficult to write and would make no sense whatsoever to anyone attempting to read.
I registered to be an organ donor. Sure, I already had the little heart symbol on my driver's license, but all that does is remind any potential emergency personnel to check to see if you're registered to donate organs. You actually have to register with an organ donation service (ex. Missouri Organ Donor Registry) for it to actually be put into practice.
So, why did it take me so long? I have long prided myself as a man of action over words. But why did I wait over 10 years to do this after I decided that I'd like to give my organs to somebody who needed them in the event I became too dead to fully appreciate their use?
I feel like I've been pretty comfortable conceiving of and discussing my own death that it really shouldn't have been a barrier to me. But it was. I want to convince myself that it was just something that I never got around to, kept slipping my mind, or some other hollow excuse, but in my mind there really was no excuse for waiting for so long.
It took an incredibly thoughtful and poignant presentation on End of Life issues by some of my nursing school classmates to really give me the slap-in-the-face that I needed. A good firm kick in the pants that, as cliche as it sounds, it really is a matter of life and death. Maybe not to me, but to somebody else. A woman in my program lost her teenage daughter to a car crash 2 years ago. This girl had done what I hadn't...what I couldn't. She was already registered to give her organs, and when that day unexpectedly came, she was already set up to give the enormous gift of life to a handful of people she had never met. Her mother spoke to us, heartbroken yet proud as she could be, and it was a splash of cold water in my face.
How careless have I been for the past decade or so? 5-6 years of rock climbing, a full decade of cycling, various other haphazardly ventured activities, plus the ever-present "hit by a bus crossing the street" risk. I can think of specific instances where a slip of the foot, or a narrowly avoided bicycle crash could have all too easily resulted in PVS for yours truly. For non-medical folks...PVS=Permanent Vegetative State. Brain dead. Nobody home. A functioning body with a face, but not a person. I know that should I ever end up as such, I would want life support pulled without a doubt. And until now, it wouldn't have resulted in anything good whatsoever. Those days are over, and I'm extremely happy that I lived long enough to make this important decision for myself, but even more importantly: for the next name on that waiting list who might just get another chance at life.
A girl I went to high school with is alive because somebody else made this decision and helped her beat cancer with a new liver. That was over a year ago. Why didn't I do it then? It would have been so easy. Do I really think I'm invincible?
Apparently so. Despite my attitude towards death, lack of religious beliefs, and everything I wished I were, I still didn't do it. The fact is, it's damn hard to face your own death, even the possibility of it. To admit that I, just like everyone else, could just up and die some day...it takes some serious stones. The more I get into nursing, the more I realize how fragile human life is. Though I never get sick, I don't bruise, and have a pretty decent capacity for self-inflicted suffering in the form of exercise...I honestly don't know when my number will come up. I recently heard of a 30 year old man, avid runner, otherwise extremely healthy, who was diagnosed with left ventricular hypertrophy right after it killed him. You can never know.
The point I'm coming to is this: Will you give up your organs once you can no longer use them? Are you too uncomfortable to even contemplate such a decision? Will you at least consider the idea? Not for me, but for those out there who are fighting for their lives and hoping for a fighting chance in hell? https://www.missouriorgandonor.com/odpublicsite/Default.aspx
In addition to registering to donate my organs, I also have begun the process to add myself to the national bone marrow registry. This one is even easier. Sign up, take a swab of your cheek and mail it in, and then wait. If you're lucky enough to have the opportunity to be somebody's match, there is a somewhat painful procedure involved in donating bone marrow, but to me I would gladly endure this to save a life. http://www.marrow.org/
Do it!
Next on my list of death-related things I've been meaning to do: Fill out an Advanced Directive.
Thanks for reading!
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