Hummingbirds

I love Hummingbirds! Do you know anybody who doesn't like them? They are truly amazing creatures. Even the lady I recently heard talking about "humblingbirds" likes them. The next 4 pictures are from a lady who began standing close to her feeders until the birds became accustomed to her and then went out one day with a cup of sugar water and the birds literally ate from her hands.

How cool is that? Thanks, Laura, for forwarding the pictures. And thanks, Helen, for forwarding the great close-up pictures. I wish I could take credit for the outstanding photography, but these were taken by someone with a much nicer camera than mine.

Aren't those amazing pictures of these incredible little birds. I have always found them fascinating, but the appreciation has grown in recent years. Some of that can be attributed to the natural process of getting older and slowing down to enjoy such simple pleasures. But part of the appreciation goes beyond that. It is tied to the time when my dad was battling prostate cancer. For a while he was in considerable pain and could not do much but sit. This was before he was confined to bed and while his mind was still sharp. When we would visit, we would spend lots of time on their carport and the hummingbirds would buzz all around, running each other away from the feeders. It was amazing to have them buzzing all around your head. It was a time when my reasoning told me that dad was going to die soon but my emotions refused to accept that fact. Lots of thought processing went on as we sat on that carport and comment on hummingbird behavior. While my emotions battled my reasoning, I knew these were just unique little birds but part of me began to see them as little angel-messengers. It seemed like little angel-messengers were constantly hoovering around and standing at the ready for when dad needed an escort to his new home. I know that is not very good theology nor logic but regardless of how illogical it is, I still sense those times near the end of dad's life whenever I see hummingbirds. And I have become MUCH more attuned to them. I now often hear the unusual "chirping" sound they make and turn to spot one approaching a feeder or flower. I even watched one last week hoover at the back of a Maxima and check out the reflection of the sun in the tail-light lense (have you noticed how much it resembles a hummingbird feeder?). So I just wanted to share these great pictures of little angel-messengers to brighten your day.

Fast Track

This news item is a classic description of how to fast track to a new career;


INDIANAPOLIS — A laboratory technician was fired after the parents of a 3-year-old boy claimed she bit his shoulder during a blood test, a hospital spokesman said.
Faith Buntin took her son Victor to St. Vincent Hospital on Friday to have blood drawn because of recent recalls of toys involving lead. She said she saw the worker put her mouth on Victor's shoulder as she restrained him so another lab worker could draw the blood.
"I looked at her like that was the craziest thing that I'd ever seen," Faith Buntin said Tuesday. "She looked at me and smiled and said, 'Oh, it was just a play bite. He's not hurt.' "
Buntin said she saw teeth marks on the boy's left shoulder after they went home, and her husband drove the child back to the hospital, where he was prescribed antibiotics.
No charges have been filed.

Now this playful lab tech gets to say "Would you like to supersize that combo?". What was she thinking? These are obviously paranoid parents if they are there to have blood tests because toys have been recalled. They are NOT going to be o.k. with a stranger putting her mouth on their toddler--even without the teeth marks!

Tailgating in the South

This just in;

MAIDEN, N.C. — A man who bought a smoker Tuesday at an auction of abandoned items might have thought twice had he looked inside first.
Maiden police said the man opened up the smoker and saw what he thought was a piece of driftwood wrapped in paper. When he unwrapped it, he found a human leg, cut off 2 to 3 inches above the knee.
The smoker had been sold at an auction of items left behind at a storage facility, so investigators contacted the mother and son who had rented the space where the smoker was found.
The mother, Peg Steele, explained her son had his leg amputated after a plane crash and kept the leg following the surgery ``for religious reasons'' she doesn't know much about.
``The rest of the family was very much against it,'' Steele said.
Steele said her son, John Wood, plans to drive to Maiden, about 35 miles northwest of Charlotte, to reclaim his amputated leg.


Wow! The questions are flooding my mind right now. The question racing to the front is "What religious reasons could there possibly be for saving an amputated leg?" If you fail to pay the rent on the storage facility where you are keeping your amputated leg IN A SMOKER, would that be considered a religious short-coming?

NASCAR--Is it a sport?

I have mostly quit watching NASCAR racing because I just do not have time and I must confess--it is sometimes a little boring. Never-the-less, I appreciate the skill and stamina that is required to control an 800 horsepower vehicle traveling 190 miles per hour around a track just inches from other cars on all sides of your car. I have discussed with several unhealthy individuals whether car racing should be considered a sport at all. It seems funny to me that this argument persists in this time of football mania. Let's face it, football is divided into four 15 minute quarters with a break between each and at half-time both teams disappear to be motivated and pampered while the band and pretty girls in sequins entertain the crowd. Even during the 15 minute quarters, almost NOBODY plays the entire time. That is why a highly recruited lineman can weigh 300 pounds and look like the night manager at Krispy Kreme. Some sports, like soccer, require constant running and top-notch conditioning. Soccer has long been less popular in the USA because there is little contact and brute strength involved. Every sport has strengths and reasons to make fun. NASCAR is no exception. However, for those who claim that car racing is for ignorant hillbillies with beer bellies that only need to be smart enough to remember to turn left, I invite you to tell that to Carl who won today and does a backflip from the window of his car after a victory.

Let me know how it turns out.

Annual Physical

Yesterday was the day for my annual physical. Only it hasn't been exactly "annual" since I was fired by my doctor. That's right, the year before last I received a certified letter from my doctor telling me I had been fired. O.K., those weren't the exact words. One of the doctors (physicians assistant, actually) had retired from the practice and they were cutting back on the patient load. SUPPOSEDLY, they had randomly chosen patients to terminate. It is a little humbling. I had always felt like I was just tolerating doctors, but really liked Dr. Tolentino. It was all about professional skill and personal demeanor--it had nothing to do with the fact that she was female and cute. It took me a while to become serious about finding a new doctor and eventually followed LaWanna's lead in considering Dr. Hendon. The process of becoming a new patient was eye-opening as well. Times have changed and many doctors now are very selective about accepting new patients (better have good insurance). Thankfully, both LaWanna and I were accepted so she had her physical on Monday and I had mine on Wednesday. The ordeal of getting a few hours off work is for another blog, but suffice it to say that it should not be that difficult for someone who has been at a company for 35 years and has accumulated over 2000 hours of sick leave AND had not used a single hour of sick leave for 5 years to get a few hours for a doctors appointment.

I could write a lengthy post about a physical and the indignities of prostate and hernia exams and how silly it seems to chat about college football while turning to the side, shirtless, and holding both arms over your head for chest x-rays. But allow me just this one funny observation about the beginning of the exam. First, kudos to Family Practice for getting patients in when they are scheduled. Finally, I feel like my time is appreciated. Then on the way down the many turns of a winding hallway, we stop at the scales. I know it is silly, but I wore dress shoes instead on my more comfortable hiking boots because they weigh so much less. What a ripoff to weigh with pocket change, cell phone, clothes, and a wallet stuffed with loads of cash. As if that is not bad enough, when the nurse had recorded my weight, she said "What is your height? Or we can measure you if you take off your shoes." "Heck no," says I. "If I take my shoes off for you to measure my height, we are doing the weight again sans shoes!" "And if I can just tell you my height based on the last time I measured (which may be high school), why couldn't I just tell you my weight?" What's up with that? Why deny me the 3/4 inch height boost from my shoes if you aren't even going to note that the weight includes 26 pounds of clothes, pocketknives, electronics AND that was before my haircut! I bet I got a pound of hair cut off later. I have a good mind to go back by first thing in the morning, strip naked and get a true weight for that chart. THEN she can measure my height without shoes.

Readin' and Writin'

This is a quote from part of an essay on Emerson by George Sheehan. I believe it captures much of the reason that I choose to blog. Some will say that I, and other bloggers, just like to hear our own voices (or see them in print). I suggest that there is a higher purpose to writing, whether it is the next great novel or a brief, humorous perception of the day's activities. Can you see your thoughts in this passage?

"We need books. First, to be educated. Emerson knew Shakespeare by heart, and read widely in the classics and Eastern philosophers. He knew his world and he principles that governed it. The great thinkers begin by knowing what others think. Wisdom comes after information and knowledge. Books provide the scaffolding that allows us to build our own system of thought. In the end, our lives depend on that. We must think for ourselves. There is no precedent for you or me. Each of us is different from anyone else. So others can be no more than guides. They tell us what is successful for them. We must find what is successful for us. Emerson expresses our own ambivalence toward books. In one essay he tells us we must read. He even gives us a list of the books he finds most valuable. Then on an equally convincing essay he tells us there is no need to read. In one piece he has quotes from other thinkers in virtually every paragraph; and in the next he says, "I hate quotations. Tell me what you think." That is what writing is. Telling people what you think. Telling other people certainly, but primarily yourself. That is why we must write. To find out what we think. To discover what we believe. Until we say it or write it down we are unaware of what is actually at the root of our lives. Good, honest, frank speech goes a long way, but writing is best. Writing permits of revision and revision aids precision. Spontaneity is good. Sincerity is better. But what we want to attain is veracity-the truth as best we can put it into words. This is by all accounts hard work even for the best. We should know that the catalyst for this process is often someone else's writing. How many a man had dated a new era in his life from the reading of a book. Perhaps not so much from reading a new book but from coming upon a person who sees life in a slightly different way-and that way a sudden opening to your own hidden or unexpressed thoughts on the matter. We must be civil to books. It is worth reading 400-500 pages to find a few golden sentences that can change our lives."

Thanks!

I really appreciate all the help I have received on the issue of following the trend of covering the gray. I have decided to put that off for a while. Turns out the cost of that much hair color is greater than the cost of a new laptop. Still, there is that lingering, nagging feeling of being average. You know what I mean. Everybody needs some area where they can stand out--be noticed. Well, I have decided to plop down a huge chunk of money to do just that. Save your sermons about how shallow and vain it is to spend lots of money to get noticed. I have already made up my mind. Instead of preaching, you can help me make one final decision about this life-changing purchase. Here are the two choices; I will either a] buy a really great car with all the bells and whistles (this baby is sporty, dependable, AND economical) or b] buy a 32-year-old junker and spend my money on 24" rims. Man, this is the toughest decision ever! I mean, I no longer like to work on my car every time I want to go somewhere but those 24" rims are PHAT! And I can just see me standing by my '76 with the giant chrome numbers shouting 24".
I bet people will notice me now! Actually, I don't exactly have the money right now. But I do have a job and in a couple of days I will have $199. That would put me in a nice ride. But I really want the rims so I am probably going to rent a set of 24's. Oh yeah, you can rent rims on the N.E. Bypass. Why don't you join me and ditch those tired old stock rims. You too, can be noticed and admired.



Perhaps I should add this quote you may have seen on a t-shirt somewhere;

SARCASM; JUST ONE OF THE SERVICES I OFFER!

I REMEMBER!

On this date 6 years ago I was going about my normal routine as a supervisor at the Lagoon Park Post Office in Montgomery when an employee told me a plane had crashed into one of the twin towers. We rolled out a t.v. normally used for safety videos and relied on the rabbit ears to pick up a local affiliate. I remember the shock and confusion as the second plane appeared and crashed into the second tower. I remember the rest of the day--the phone calls to family--the questions about friends who were visiting New York--the feeling that life had changed forever in the United States. The conspiracy nuts are appalling to me and our short term thinking causes me great concern. Here are a few pictures to remind us all.

I NEED YOUR HELP!

I am in a delimna and really need the input of you faithful readers. Here is the problem; As most of you know, LaWanna and I are the same age (o.k., I'm 9 months older). That is not the problem--the problem is that she looks 20 years younger, like a trophy wife. This has been fun for a while but now I am growing concerned about people's impressions. I have considered different techniques to make myself appear younger but never was serious about it until seeing a recent video. In this just-released video a popular celebrity with a cult-like following had clearly colored his beard to hide the gray and, boy, does he look younger! Now I have to seriously consider following his lead. After all, he is a powerful man with a world-wide following. Who am I to say he is vain or out of touch with the latest trends. Take a look at his before and after pictures and let me know if you think this is a move I should make.

Put on the New Man

This week's U.S. News includes a thoughtful article about the obesity epidemic in the USA and especially among children. Many questions are asked and few are answered. I submit the following excerpt from Dr. Sheehan's book "Running and Being" as a thought process that might provide some answers;

" The people who think they know say that given a second chance a man will make the same mess of his life he did the first time. Playwrights and novelists over the years have never given us hope that reliving our lives would have any different result the second time around. Our scientists and psychologists seem to agree. Even such disparate thinkers as Bucky Fuller and B.F. Skinner are together on this. ""We shouldn't try to change people," wrote Skinner. "We should change the world in which people live." It is a thought Fuller often expressed. Some, of course, take an opposing view. The people who deal in Faith, Hope, and Charity seem to think that one day is as good as another for changing your personal history. Philosophers since recorded time have recommended it. From Pindar to Emerson they have told us to become the thing we are, to fulfill our design, to choose our own reality, our own way of being a person. What they didn't tell us was how to do it, or how difficult it would be. When Paul said to put on the New Man, he reminded us of the unlimited potential of man, but the lives we lead constantly remind us of the obvious limits to this potential. Clearly the Good Life is not as accessible as the books say. And yet it is not from want of trying that we have failed. We start our new lives with almost as much frequency as Mark Twain gave up smoking (thousands of times) and with about the same success. Can tomorrow be the first day of the rest of our life? And can that life be completely different from the mess it is today? The answer, of course, has to be yes, or all those great men wouldn't have said so. But how do you go about it? The first thing to do, it seems to me, is to retrace your steps. To go back to that period of your life when you were operating as a successful human being (although you most likely weren't aware of it). To go back to those times when your soul, your self, was not what you possessed or your social standing or other people's opinion but a totality of body, mind, and spirit. And that totality interacted freely with your total environment. Somewhere past childhood that integration of self and that response to the universe began to dissolve. We came more and more to associate who we were with what we owned, to judge ourselves by other people's opinions, to make our decisions by other people's rules, to live by other people's values. Coincidentally, or maybe not so coincidentally, our physical condition began to decline. We had reached the fork in the road. We took the well-traveled path. One who took the path overgrown with weeds and rarely used was Henry David Thoreau. The world knows Thoreau as a man of intellect, a shrewd observer, a rebel against conventional values. What has not been emphasized was that he was an athlete, and a fine one. He was, of course, a great walker. This kept him in prime physical condition. "I inhabit my body, " he wrote, "with inexpressible satisfaction: both its weariness and its refreshments." It would not be too much to say that Thoreau's other activities derived their vitality from the vitality of his body. That the self that was Thoreau depended on being as physical as he could be. And that no life can be completely lived without being lived completely on a physical level. If Thoreau was right, the way to find who we are is through our bodies. The way to relive our life is to go back to the physical self we were before we lost our way. That tuned-in self that could listen with the third ear, was aware of the fourth dimension, and had a sixth sense about the forces around it. That tuned-in self that was sensitive and intuitive, and perceived what is no longer evident to our degenerating bodies. This may come as a surprise even to physical fitness leaders. Physical fitness programs have long been based on the desire to lead a long life, to forestall heart attacks, to feel better generally or to improve your figure. No one ever told us that the body determined our mental and spiritual energies. That with the new body we can put on the new person and build a new life, the life we were always designed to lead but lost with the body we enjoyed in our youth. Now, common sense will tell you that you'll never see twenty-eight again, but the facts on fitness show that almost anyone can reach levels of vigor and strength and endurance equal to most of the twenty-eight-year-olds in this country. Given the good fortune to find an athletic activity that fits him, a man can recapture his youth and a second chance to listen to what his total self held important at that time. If you think that life has passed you by, or even worse, that you are living someone else's life, you still can prove the expert's wrong. Tomorrow can be the first day of the rest of your life. All you have to do is to follow Thoreau. Inhabit your body with delight, with inexpressible satisfaction; both its weariness and its refreshments. And you can do it if you'll just go back to that fork in the road."

George Sheehan, M.D.

Can You Use a Little Mercy Now?

I was alerted to this youtube video by a college friend (Thanks Bonnie!) and found it to be well worth the time. In fact, I listened to it several times. I had not heard of Mary Gauthier before but I like the blues sound. However, it is the message of the lyrics that grab you--even if the tempo is slower than you normally appreciate. Her song is set to pictures of the aftermath of Katrina in New Orleans. There are racial insinuations and political decisions that I do not appreciate nor condone, but the message of the song is powerful; every single one of us can use a little mercy now.


http://www.http://www.youtube.com:80/watch?v=TC_EGcswWaw

Encouraging Update!

This just in; as I plundered around several web sites tonight (Sunday) I happened to check on the Trail of Legends site and discovered the results and photos from the Riverfest 5K race in Wetumpka a couple of weeks ago. Imagine my surprise when I saw these results;

Male 50-54





247 25.19 Grant, James 50 Montgomery, AL

250 28.36 Wishum, Roxy 53 Montgomery, AL

264 33.05 Rice, Neil 54 Prattville, AL

243 33.16 Wiggins, Kenneth 50 Wetumpka, AL

254 34.59 Hines, Brent 50 Wetumpka, AL

That's right, I thought I did not do so well but, in fact, finished second in my age group. Where's my trophy? I also found this;

I feel a little better.

Quote of the week

I found this on another blog as part of a much longer quote. As an amateur photographer, I immediately appreciated the thought.


"A photographer is always in a state of preparing himself for a given moment… we have only an instant in which to think and act." -Arnold Newman

After you think about it a while, perhaps whatever role we play in life causes us to be always in a state of preparing for a given moment. That is why I grow increasingly impatient with the time-wasters in my life. T.V. comes to mind.

If at first you don't succeed, tri, tri again!

You are probably tired of checking my blog only to find those canned pictures of other folks competing in a triathlon. Sure, they all look like real athletes and seem very serious about competing. But if you want to see serious determination, check this out;

You see, someone as naturally fast as I am has to really concentrate to stay under the posted speed limit of 15 mph. One of the competitors said after the race that those signs did not apply to us, but with the recent "taking back the streets" campaign, I wasn't taking any chances! And just in case anybody thought I was kidding about riding my mountain bike in a triathlon, here is the proof;

This shot was taken about 5 minutes later and, as you can see, I have moved 20 or 30 yards closer to the cameraman. There is no telling how fast I was going. The official timer did say they were timing me with a calender. One guy said he had to line me up with a telephone pole to see if I were moving.



And for all of you who think I may not have finished before dark, here is a picture of the TRI-umphant crossing of the finish line.

The reason the finish line looks like a doormat is that sensors are underneath that pad that read the computer chip in the strap on my right ankle. This enables them to track each time you enter and leave the transition area. And they had computer print-outs posted at the end of the race showing names and times by age group. Actually, it was posted while some were still on the course. Later, I will post a more serious, philosophical perspective on competing in such an event. But, for now, have a good laugh. Yes, I know I look funny. No, I don't have any pictures of me drowning--I mean swimming. Yes, there were a few people still behind me at the finish--very few.

Medical School

You know the old joke; "What do you call the guy who finishes last in his class at med school?" "Doctor." So, what do you call the guy who finishes near the back of the pack in a triathlon? A triathlete! Of course, when I was young enough (and foolish enough) to think I might become competitive in triathlons, athletes would call people who treated a sprint triathlon like an endurance event "triathloids". After a hiatus of about a quarter century, I have entered and completed another triathlon. My part wasn't pretty but I got the medal and the t-shirt. I didn't do badly with the watermelon and cookies either. Here are a few pictures;

I have no idea who this young lady is, but her picture is included to represent that the gender ratio in the Georgia Veterans Park Triathlon was about 60% male and 40% female. I was a little surprised by the number of female triathletes.

Can you find me in this picture? Of course not! First of all, by the time I got out of the lake, there was no chance I would be riding with this many cyclists. Secondly, none of these pictures are from my triathlon. Since I do not have any (yet), I harvested these from the "net".

This could be me. Well, I am not that lean and I don't have a $3000 bike. In fact, I don't even have a road bike. That's right, I competed (?) on a mountain bike. It was a little like taking the Clampett's old truck to the Daytona 500. But still, I had a red shirt and black shorts. That might be me.

This might be my brother, Keith. Except he has never been to Australia. I sent Keith this picture to make him feel better. Keith and Josh (the associate minister) bought triathlon shorts for the race (like biking shorts) and family gave them so much grief that they almost did not wear them. Once you see all the crazy outfits, the self-conscious feelings fade quickly. At least they did not make the mistake this guy did and order the women's outfit.

The serious report is that the Georgia Veteran's Park Triathlon is an extremely organized event and was lots of fun. Yes, I did actually do as poorly in the swim as I anticipated. Once I survived that ordeal, the bike and run portions were fun. Keith did really, really, well. I am very proud of him. Josh also beat me but was a little gun-shy because of a bike crash during training a couple of weeks ago. If you are thinking about completing a triathlon some day, this would be a great first event. There were a good many first-timers in this race. I would like to add, as tactfully as I know how, that there were men and women of every shape, size, and age in this race. Please take this word of wisdom with you; never, never size up a competitor before a race based on age, size, or shape and conclude "I know I can beat that person." The odds are good that you can not.

Stay tuned for reports on these upcoming events;

Labor Day 1-miler Downtown Montgomery

9/29 5-K at AUM

10/28 Attack on Swayback mountain bike race (I have the bike for this one)

12/8 5-K in Wetumpka

Run for your life!

Because SO MANY readers of my blog have asked for it (thanks, Laura), here is a report on my participation in the Riverfest 5K race in beautiful downtown Wetumpka last Saturday. First, let me say that on August 1 the official high temp in Wetumpka was 95 and 8/2-8/5 it was either 98 or 99. From 8/6 until today it has been over 100 and is predicted to surpass 100 through this week. On Friday, Saturday, and Sunday the high in Wetumpka was 105 each day. This information should not be ignored as you read this because it CAN NOT be ignored if you work (and/or play) outdoors. Last week was a 6-day workweek for me, including the Saturday of the race. I had planned to run the race and go to work late since Saturday is normally a short workday for me. My plan was to use this race as a barometer to determine if I had any chance to survive a triathlon near Americus, Georgia on the following Saturday (8/18) with my brother. The results are in; 1] I have little chance of survival 2] I signed up for the triathlon Sunday afternoon.

The race was fun, all things considered. The organization was less than ideal but much better than it could have been. The start time for the race was 7 a.m. or 7:30 a.m., depending on which source you were depending on. This poses some problem since showing up 30 minutes late for the start of a race that should be over in less than 30 could be both confusing and disheartening. I made the only wise decision--to show up prepared to run at 7 and not be surprised if it began at 7:30. That is exactly what happened. Well, not exactly. As it turned out, the "organizers" were not quite organized at 7:30 so the hour I had already been there and the two jogs from my truck to the starting line area were not enough. We needed to stand in the blistering sun a little longer. We started some time around 7:45. It is always fascinating to me to watch people at events such as this. O.K., it is fascinating to me to watch people almost anywhere, but especially when they are about to "perform". These events draw a wide assortment of people. All the characters are always there. The names change, but the characters are represented. There are true athletes; those who take it very seriously and train hard. They are not the first ones you notice and often it surprises you which ones they really are. Then there are pseudo-serious athletes; these folks have expensive, new apparel and gear. They drive sporty cars and have stickers displaying allegiance to various sports. And there is a variety of individuals that prompt you to want to ask "Are you REALLY running in this race?" Not just the ones that are old and heavy, like me, but they have complex waist-belts with multiple water-bottle holders or hydration backpacks and ipods and heart monitors and wires everywhere. Really? For a 5K? You know that is 3.1 miles? Do you really think you will need to refuel several times in the next half-hour? Will you really have time to listen to Mozart or Rick and Bubba? Do you really want a lot of distraction while you jostle with 150 other people running through traffic for 3.1 miles? You DO realize this is NOT a marathon, right? My favorite for this particular race was the lady who showed up late. By late, I mean later than the actual posted start-time (the second one, not the first). She screeched into the drive near the registration table, hopped out of her car (leaving it in the drive), and ran to get her race number. All eyes were on her as she explained to the lady at the table that she got "horribly lost". Really? In Wetumpka? With the registration table in front of city hall on MAIN STREET? Then you think the thing to do is drive through the crowd that has been standing here for an hour so you can park 7 feet from the start line? Here is what caught my attention about this lady; as late as she was and as rude as she was (because of the emergency of being late), you could not help to notice that her make-up was flawless. That's right folks--bright red lipstick, foundation, blush, mascara--she was ready to rumble. Perhaps she was applying make-up while driving, which may explain getting "hopelessly lost" in Wetumpka. Eventually, we did get underway and I was flying. Man, I was running near the front of the pack and it did not seem that hard. As many races as I have run over the years, I should have recognized that I was starting too fast for my level of conditioning. But I could not help myself--I was unleashed and could not be held back. Until about half-way. Then something began to hold me back--a lot. What is that? Gravity? The weight of years? The weight of Snickers bars? The wet blanket of Alabama humidity (did I mention that we ran next and twice crossed the Coosa River)?

My second complaint about organization/planning is (and I hate to complain because I really appreciate the race--but when you fork out $20 for a race, you expect these things to be done) the miles were not marked. With no indication of the one, two, or three mile mark you not only do not know how to judge your level of exhaustion but also can not compute your pace. This is a major flaw and should not be tolerated by a race director. Otherwise, I may have won. Well, at least I could look back on the race and figure how many miles I had remaining when the real runner won. Seriously, the late start and lack of mile markers did not affect me too much since the best I hoped for was to run at the middle of the pack. But serious (and semi-serious) competitors need that information.

I saw Matt Dixon at the race which was a little weird since I had watched him perform in "Little Shop of Horrors" at the Faulkner dinner theater Friday night (just hours before). Matt did well--improving on his time from a couple of weeks ago by about two minutes and beating me by about that margin. Man, that hurts. Don't count on it again, Matt. I am not having it. Matt is also training for a triathlon--only he is actually training. I am sure he will do MUCH better in his than I will do in mine. Good luck, Matt. I am proud of you.

One more shortcoming of the race was that there was no visible clock at the finish line and nobody calling out times. Again, this is just not acceptable--not even to the back-of-the-pack runners. A registration and accompanying fees should assure these basics or you are just paying $20 to go for a run. Kudos, however, for the great fruit table at the finish line.

I had fun and am glad I did it. It had been a long time since I participated in an organized (?) event like this, so it was fun to get back into it. Also, a GIANT THANK YOU to my wonderful wife who got up early on Saturday, drove to Wetumpka, and stood in the heat just to cheer for ME! That means that although my time was over 28 minutes and lots of folks finished ahead of me, I was a WINNER! It is great to have fans. Thanks, also to co-workers who tolerated my schedule so I could go out and play. Next week I will post about the Georgia Veterans Triathlon. I continue to train even as I am writing this by finishing off a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos. I am so ready! I hope it is 110 degrees Saturday.

How hot is it?

I am not saying that two weeks of temps over 100 degrees every day is too hot, but just today I have heard 4 different trees attempting to whistle a dog over.

Why do you race?

People sometimes ask me this question. I rarely feel that they want to allow me the time to adequately answer. When I haven't raced for a long time and return to it in the middle of a 100 degree heat wave, I sometimes ask myself the same question. My favorite running philosopher, Dr. George Sheehan explains it better than I can. Here is one of his essays;

"What I have lost I can afford to lose. What I have gained is something I cannot do without."

I first came upon the aging process in a race. I felt no sense of advancing years in my day-to-day activity. My work week was unchanged: I wrote, I traveled, I lectured. Some people marveled at my energy and endurance. It was my weekend race that finally told me I was no longer young. The changes that come with age are subtle-but not to a runner. My 10-K time measures me quite accurately. Any change in performance dictated by age is precisely recorded in minutes or seconds on the digital clock at the finish line. "Crumbling is not an instant's Act," wrote Emily Dickinson. And the physician in me knows that almost 90 percent of my liver has to be damaged before its impairment is apparent. The body has enormous reserves to call upon. But in the race, I call on all my reserves. I am operating at full throttle. The least diminution in function becomes evident. The race, therefore, is the litmus test for aging. Long before anything else goes, race times signal the approach of the last stage of life. A look at my weekly race results will tell you bluntly that I am no longer middle-aged. I am now a full-fledged citizen of the country of the aged. Three years ago when this happened, I refused to believe it. Running had been my fountain of youth. For years I thought it was inexhaustible, like the never-empty cup of coffee some restaurants offer. After I began running in my 40's, I quickly became 32 years old and stayed that way. Decades came and went, and I was still in my prime. When my 10-K times slowed down and I began to run personal worsts instead of personal bests, I took stock. It was not age, I told myself. I had been 32 years old for the previous 20 years and did not intend to get older. All I needed was more training, some hills and speedwork, and I would be back to my best. I took up arms against age. I increased my training and within a single Thanksgiving holiday ran four races. Each race I ran a little faster than the previous one, but never near the times I had registered the year before. And I was no longer in the top third of the field-now, I was well back in the second half of the pack. How did I feel about all this? Terrible. And don't remind me that most people my age have run up the white flag. Do not tell me I can still outrun the average person twenty years younger than me. Do not point out that age has compensations that will more than pay for the lost few minutes in the race. I am rebuilding my life on those thoughts. But first, help me bury the runner I once was, and then we can talk about what the future holds. Apparently, it still holds plenty. My initial depression has receded. I realize now that there are more things at stake than setting a personal best in a road race. I can even answer truthfully (and this is the most difficult part) when someone asks me, "What was your time, Doc?" My times continue to get slower and slower. And, therefore, the "me" that I am is different. But the me that I am has developed insights and wisdom that I did not have before. What I have lost I can afford to lose. What I have gained is something I cannot do without. The race, however slow my times, remains an ever-changing learning experience. Whenever I race, I learn something new about myself and those who race with me. I will never be 32 years-old again, but it no longer matters, because I've learned that winning doesn't matter, it's running that counts. And when I push to the limit, I am a boy again-an untried youth listening to the wisdom of my body.
Copyright © The George Sheehan Trust

I think I will stick with it a while.

HOLA

Utilice por favor el carril que da vuelta.

This post is only for the employees of Caffco and Southern Homes and Gardens on Hwy. 231. The sentence in Spanish says "Please use the turning lane." There are 7 lanes on Hwy. 231 in front of your workplace. The middle lane was designed by intelligent engineers to allow you a safe place to decelerate and stop while waiting for an opening to turn across 3 lanes of oncoming traffic. Do not be afraid of the turning lane. It is there to help you. DO BE AFRAID of coming to a complete stop in the far left lane (read fast lane) every morning during rush hour. We are all trying to watch out for you until you can secure a driver's license and perhaps even some liability insurance. You have been so brave to sneak across the border and come all the way to Alabama in an Astro van with 17 relatives. You show no fear of violating numerous traffic laws. Please do not be afraid of the turning lane.
Gracias. Tenga un buen dia.

Crabby Old Man

The following is a poem sent to me by a friend. It was written by a man in a geriatric ward of a small hospital in Tampa, Florida. I am sorry I do not know his name to give credit. After he died the nurses cleaning his room discovered this poem and it has circulated via e-mail since then. It is worth a read.



Crabby Old Man

What do you see nurses? .....What do you see?
What are you thinking..when you're looking at me?
A crabby old man, ..not very wise,Uncertain of habit ........with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food.......and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice.....'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice .the things that you do.
And forever is losing .............. A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not...........lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding ... The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse......you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am . As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, ....as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten.......with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters .......who love one another
A young boy of Sixteen ..........with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now. .......a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty .........my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows......that I promised to keep
At Twenty-Five, now ......... I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide ..... And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty ........ My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other ........ With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons ....have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me........to see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, ....... Babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children ........ My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me .......... My wife is now dead.
I look at the future .........I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing ......young of their own.
And I think of the years...... And the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man.........and nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age .....look like a fool
The body, it crumbles..........grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone........where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass ...... A young guy still dwells,
And now and again .....my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys.............. I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living.............life over again.
I think of the years ....all too few.....gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact........that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people ..open and see..
Not a crabby old man. Look closer....see..ME!!



I will add just three comments;
1] Life is short (James 4:14)
2] Make fun of young people, not old people--you have already been where the young are and will someday be where the old are!
3] Take time to consider that the person in front of you is a combination of traits, strengths, weaknesses, and experiences that adds up to more than what you first see.