Sarte wrote

"We are our choices." 

Sarte haunts me. But I get him. Now. Only took 30+ years. But I get him. 

It comes down to choices. We are each the product of our choices. Good and bad. If I'd married the first girl I loved, I wouldn't have the children I have now. If I'd never read and memorized Shakespeare, I wouldn't have the bride I have now. If I'd never been caught in corporate "downsizing," I wouldn't have been so willing to leave Atlanta to rejoin my family and friends on The Gulf Coast. What seemed soul rending becomes a blessing, over time. And what appeared golden fades. We make these choices so flippantly, not realizing the potential impacts later. But everything we are or will be is based on our choices. 

It is just a matter of making the right ones at the right time. 

Therein lies my rub.

Mittwoch

Slept much better. Almost touched seven hours. Rare treat for this old geek. Such a difference.

Swam at the gym. 1400 meters. Twenty eight laps. Not graceful. Or  energetic. Wanted 1600 meters. But couldn't clear my head. All these fears of open water. Not seeing or touching the bottom. A fear of sinking. My heart coming up in my throat. Paralyzed. Dropping into the depths. Not the good fear, either. The bad stuff. Filling me with doubts.

Liam's picked up some classes at the gym. Parisi. Hoping it improves his abilities. Maybe he'll develop some physical skills at an early age. Unlike his old man. Cindy does cardio while waiting on him, On her own quest. Meg does ballet and jazz on Mondays. Cheerleading on Wednesday & Saturdays. All of us getting fit.Whoddah thunk?

If only I could sleep as well as them each night...

Sleepless

Should have known. When I need it the most, I'm denied sleep.

Started with the dog. At 11P, Meg sashays out of her room and says, "Look who I found!" Then proceeds to fire up the crying and complaining machine, until I let her go into our bed, and sleep next to her mother.

At midnight, I try to put Meg in her own room. Just as her head touches her own bed, she bolts wide awake. Then proceeds to fire up the crying and complaining machine. Cindy won't go in Meg's room, so once again Meg is back in our room.

I try to sleep on the sofa. But that damn dog. It starts SNORING. And by 1AM, I can't take it. Slip back into my room. Where Meg wakes up and starts fussing.

For most of the next five hours, I get kicked and punched seemingly every couple of minutes And after the fight, I have to get up and go to work, for an early downtime. Being so sleepless is like being hungover without the pleasure of drinking the night before.

And my insomniac's hangover lasts all day.

Six Miles

Skipped the gym today. Liam really wanted to go on a ride. Just the two of us. After the injuries from yesterday, I was thrilled he was so eager to hit the road again. So I came home, changed quickly, and rolled while there was still enough light.

We averaged about 12MPH, better than the 10MPH with his old bike. And road three big laps, for a total of six miles. No injuries. No close encounters or disagreements. Just hanging out and listening to the road hum beneath our wheels.

New Ride

I've been biking around the neighborhood lately. Usually just me and Liam. Sometimes Meg joins us. But mostly Liam and I making vast circles through multiple blocks. Three laps of two miles each. He's been doing a great job, but kept asking for a bigger bike. Something with gears like mine.

Mom found a new ride for him! It's a touch too big. Right now he can barely get his tiptoes on the ground while on it. But he'll grow. And he can ride it, once he gets started. Loves the gears and the obvious speed improvement. Doesn't like such tenuous starts. Part balancing act and part controlled fall.  There's not much complaining though. He realizes he's just getting started and will only improve from here.

He did straddle the center bar, once. That wasn't pretty. But he didn't let it defeat him. He stuck with it.

Meg had a spill of her own today, too. She straddled the center bar, too. Then wiped out on the side of the road. Cut her knee. Lots of tears. But she toughed it out and made it home by her own power.

Proud of both of them. And glad we can enjoy the time outside, together. Being active and happy. Enjoying it while it lasts.

Fall Festival and more

Incredibly long day. Especially after a near sleepless night. But, it is what it is. I've learned to just accept the defeat and move along. Anything else is just a waste of time and effort. I'll have plenty of time to rest later.

Gulfport's Fall Festival, this morning. Meg's entire cheerleading team was on their own float. Cindy was tasked with being an official nurse at the First Aid station. So I managed the kids. Had Meg on site by 8A. They rolled out at 9A.

During the wait, Liam crafted some folk art out of random bits of debris. One minute we're hanging out on a curb. Next minute Liam's name is spelled out between us. I don't recall ever doing that as kid. And he cobbled it together so quickly and effortlessly. He was looking for some bugs, either alive or dead to add to the mix. A live bug would have been hilarious. But his debris graffiti was cool and funny. I wonder how long it lasted before the wind or some cruel stranger found it.

The parade ended at Milner Stadium. All kinds of activities for the kids there. Both of them had a great time at some bean bag throwing booth. When they were in line, the ten kids in front of Liam completely missed the targets with all three of their throws. They received some orange bracelet for their efforts. Liam missed his first two throws, then scores a double prize with the final one. Another five kids miss completely. Meg walks up and scores a double prize on her FIRST throw. Super proud of both of them and they both collected some cool prizes.  Then Meg had her face painted. Liam massaged some pig lungs. And they both fired up some remote controlled robots and had a mass melee. Liam's pincherbot wouldn't pinch. But Meg "p0wned some noobs" with her rampbot. Thought we might have to get some kits of our own and build McDougal-style combatants. Liam wanted a working pincher and Meg wanted something that could throw her enemies out of the ring.

A couple of hours at the gym followed. Back, biceps, and 1200 meters of swimming. Then Liam headed off to Bryce's house. Cindy, Meg, my Mom, and I had Mexican food in Long Beach.

And we all lived happily ever after.

Digging

It comes to this: Cindy & I spent our Friday night together digging an amazingly complicated splinter out of our daughter's wounded pointer finger. Started the pre-op in the dining room. Half an hour of feuding with The Red Headed Fireball produced no results. The final confrontation with the villainous fragment took place in Meg's room. Me and Baby Meg comforting her. While Cindy methodically re-open the trail the splinter took. Using an alcohol-cleansed needle. And lots of patience.A mighty battle, of course. Nurse Cindy emerged the victor. Two tiny pieces of broken wood, defeated. On a bed of gauze.

Afterward, Meg thanked us. Profusely. Apologized for the yelling and the tears. Made the adventure worth our effort.

Felt like she was apologizing for all of it. All the yelling. All the tears.

Our adventures with the kids are worth the effort. Even the painful digging.

Road Work

My first real bike ride today. Some real road work for a change!

All told, about twenty two miles for the round trip. From the Super Walmart, in Pass Christian, over the restored Pass bridge, into downtown Bay St Louis, and back again. On the return trip, coming off the bridge, I hit 29MPH. A record for me. Patrick (barely visible ahead of me in the picture) hit 35MPH. Of course he's an avid cyclist (President of the local bike club) and was rocking a tri bike.

A truly spectacular ride. No traffic. Perfect weather. And a good pace, for a beginner like me. Hoping to go again on Sunday. One thing is for sure, I need more water bottles!

Massage, Mistaken Cleats, and Miners. Oh my!

Swimming clobbers my neck. Feels like one of my vertebrae gets nudged off kilter. And the muscles in the surrounding area stage an organized revolt.Not so much painful as uncomfortable. Like knuckle you WANT to pop, but can't, even though you've tried for hours. Fortunately, I stumbled across a  massage therapist with some spare time. And a heated bamboo stick. Real bamboo. Really heated. And this girl beat my neck and shoulders with it like a carnival pony. Which I desperately needed. Okay, it was more like a rolling pin. But eventually the naughty vertebrae popped back into place. And I'm worlds away from where I was only hours ago.

Renewed, I hit the gym. Wanted to try the cleats from my street bike on one of the stationary bikes at the gym. Let us remember that I'm a keyboard jocket. Not an athlete. And not Lance Armstrong. So I wasn't aware that there different types of cleats. The ones on the bottoms of my shoes, which click into the pedals on my street bike, didn't work at the gym. All that hobbling around the room was for naughty. But I still had my normal shoes handy. And still had an amazing ride.

Brief confession. I was slightly offended every time somebody mentioned the "Miracle Of The Chilean Miners," today. Calling it a miracle is to spit in the face of the hundreds (thousands?) of rescuers and engineers who spent almost 70 straight days doing everything humanly possible to get those miners out of the ground. Instead of praising a divine spiritual creator, I think we should praise the human spirit that made it possible for those men to live and rejoin their friends, families, and loved ones. Chile should be proud of its efforts. To call it a miracle only diminishes it. Men and women made this possible. Those men and women deserve praises and the miners' thanks.

A billion people watched the rewards of their labors. For one day, we were all in agreement that something "good" happened by our own hands. We saw what we can do when we band together for a common cause.

If only we could agree more often...

Chilling

Tested my triathlon "racesuit" today. A single piece, zipper-in-the-front, super tight outfit. Sleeveless. Mid-thigh length trunks. Neither easy to climb into nor notably comfortable. But the seat is slightly padded (for biking) and during an actual race, I wouldn't have to change anything during event transitions. In theory.

First time I swam in more than a week. I don't know if it was the recovery period, the suit, or the fact that the water was cold enough to liquefy helium, but I was carving through the water at a great pace.

Late night, though. The sun had nearly gone. And gnats were prowling. I only put in 800 meters. But they were good, strong laps. Might try some more in the morning, before work. Only hope they aren't so chilling.

Overdue

Hrm. Five months blurred together like chalk on cement after an August rain. Mostly occupied by training, a side project, and a constant state of partial awareness.

The training has been going well. In the pool, I've worked to the point when I can swim a whole mile. I routinely bike 17 - 20 miles. But I'm still working on my form while running. It'll come though. The results? I'm down to 189lbs. (From a high of 217lbs.) The first time I've been below 190 in more than a decade. Sadly, the least I've weighed in my 30s. But my waistline is down from nearly a size 35 to a size 31 (or possibly less by now.)

The kids had a good summer. They're having a great school year. All A's, both of them. And they're both in Gifted Programs.

Cindy's trying to go back to school. Get her Nurse Practioner's degree. Could be finished by December, 2013.

We mark our lives with a series of small victories. But sometimes I lose sight of the path we're trying to take. But I think I've found it. Or something like it.

...and everything.

Interesting moment in time. 10/10/10. 10:10 AM.

It isn't a once-in-823-years event, though. Not sure where that sudden urban myth came from. But this October has the exact same days as 1982, 1993, and 1999. The next October with a repeat occurrence will be 2021.

However, 101010, in binary, represents the number 42. Therein lies the rub.

Creative Three

More than ten years later, old college friends unite. Kim, Sheridan, and Ol' Jon. A decade ago, we were would-be writers. Full of ideas and dreams and wildfire. Nothing we could not have accomplished if we put our minds to it. And now? Kim manages nurses. Sheridan recently returned from a prolonged, multi-year vacation doing cabaret in New York City. And me? I'm a sloppy old geek with too many ideas and not enough spine.

Reunion started at The Hard Rock Casino. Couple of drinks. Laughter. Taunting the server. Reliving old adventures. Figuring out where we diverged. Where life took us afterwards.None of ending up where we planned. Maybe not where we wanted. But all of us on our feet. And mostly sane.

Drifted to Jazzeppi's for some food. Some more drinks. And more laughs. Funny how quickly time can disappear. The space between now and college blurred like chalk drawings on a rain-slick sidewalk. Some four thousand days almost meaningless while we relive would-be golden years. Memories enhanced by booze and carbs. Halloween costumes. Wrestling events. Parties. Teachers. Fellow students. All rehashed in glorious detail for a few fleeting hours.

And then we were done. Not sure when we will meet again. Three completely disparate lives rocketing in different directions. An act of Congress to converge. We want it to be soon. But we know it won't.

Finally

On my fourth trip to the pool, after somewhere between 4 - 8 hours of trying, I finally found my rhythm while swimming! It is like a huge burden lifted off my shoulders. I get it, now! I get it!

When I talked with him last night, Jim (my triathlon coach) said I was breathing bass ackwards. (Keep in mind I spent several years doing advanced yoga moves and taking multiple-hour-long breathing classes.) I was so accustomed to breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, I never stopped to think about the logistics of breathing while swimming. Jim said I needed to exhale OUT through my nose just before I brought my arm back, and inhale IN through my mouth as my arm came out of the water. And that one piece of advice changed everything.

It comes down to numbers. A four beat count. On the second stroke with my right arm, I exhale through my nose. Follow my hand around with my face. Inhale as the hand comes up. And repeat. Sounds simple. But for an aging computer dork, it was a major breakthrough.

I'm up to ten very sloppy laps. The goal is twelve. That would be six hundred meters. If I can do it in a pool, I can do it in a race. Or that's my theory. We'll see how it goes.

Unforeseen Consequences

The thirty eighth day of  our continued unnatural disaster. We're the victims, but BP has sentenced us to death by slow, lethal injection. Black gold. Texas tea.

Surprisingly, the audience is still watching. Hasn't changed the channel to American Gladiators or the latest installment of New Moon, yet. The media clowns and new hounds still circle. Parading along our beaches with their vans and satellite dishes. Looking for mucked-up corpses and angry locals pointing fingers.

BP is trying the "top kill" option, now. Use a big straw and slam fifty thousand barrels of "mud," into the existing shaft. If they can push the crude back down, they'll clog the works with rubber tires and boomerangs and unsold copies of American Idol's Greatest Hits. 60% chance of success. That's in perfect conditions, I'm betting. Nobody's done it 5000 feet down.

A couple of "What If" situations. Some unforeseen consequences of failing in these Sisyphusian efforts.:

• Hurricane season starts in four days. What happens if a CAT3 - CAT5 strolls through, picks up several million gallons of goo and deposits them on top of everything within half a mile of the coastline? How many folks will have to be evacuated due to that toxic hazzard? And for how long? Cleaning oil off of a beach is one thing. Cleaning it out of backyards and out of flood-savaged remains of semi-demolished buildings is something else entirely. Nearly five years after Katrina, we're still rebuilding. Try that after a Category Five Toxic Avenger does the two-step on your vacation community and see how long it takes the tourists (ie: income) to return.
• Speaking of tourists. The five affected Gulf states have a combined $2.2T economy. What happens if 10% of that is shuttered? A $200,000,000 loss at this stage in the Great Recession isn't going to help anyone. BP isn't going to give up a single penny more than it has to. And our government can't possibly print up more money to cover that gaping wound.
  
  Extend that damage to Georgia? The Carolinas? How about if our spill affects Cuba?
• Has anyone considered what this will do to already-suffering home owners along the coastline? The value on their homes isn't bad enough? If they're "under water" now, they'll be subterranean by the time the last seagull is degreased.Can anyone see that affecting the currently-terminal housing market? The lending industry?
• And what about the MS river? Has anyone considered the notion that a blob of crude will float over to the mouth of it and put the entire shipping fleet at risk? We can't have ships covered in oil motoring back UP the MS, sloughing off toxic love every couple of miles.

Almost forty days later. Shouldn't we start talking about these unforeseen consequences? 

It Will Be Horrific

A month has passed. At the edge of our sight, the next nightmare grows by the hour. Nobody has good numbers any more. BP says 200,000 gallons per day. Others say a million per day. The truth is somewhere in middle, I hope.

BP's sole success (a 4" pipe siphoning off some of the flow from one of the leaks) is diminishing the horror by 20%. At most. Perhaps a fraction of that.

At this moment, they're lowering a "kill" rig in place. To pump 50,000 gallons of "mud" into the pipes. Hoping to gum the works. A technique which has never succeeded at this depth. And the attempt could take upwards of two days. While everyone on every coastal city watch the grainy Internet feed from a mile down and pray to our prospective gods for salvation.

But the sad truth is that the cleanup is destined for failure. It will be horrific. We know from recent testimony that the cleanup of the Exxon Valdez was futile.  Dr. Jeffrey Short of Oceana testified in a 2009 hearing that:

Despite heroic effects involving more than 11,000 people, two billion dollars, and aggressive application of the most advanced technology available, only about 8 percent of the oil was ever recovered. This recovery rate is fairly typical for a large oil spill. About 20 percent evaporated, 50 percent contaminated beaches, and the rest floated out to the North Pacific Ocean where it formed tarballs that eventually stranded elsewhere or sank to the seafloor. 

8% success rate? Our ecosystem will drown in the rest. Wildlife. Commercial fishing. Tourism. All of it needs to learn to swim in crude, or die trying.

Tri Training - Week One - Swimming

A confession. Outside of survival purposes, I do not swim. Never had the need nor the desire. But to prepare for a future triathlon, I swam laps last night. Ugly, pitiful ones. A pale, pudgy, 39yr old computer jockey flailing through the water in a long pair of skin-tight Spandex trunks. More of a spectacle than a swimmer. 

Despite my frightening appearance, glaring imperfections and sloppy mechanics, I didn't really care if anyone was watching. Or laughing. I gave it my best effort. Almost two hours of effort. Thankfully my instructor was more patient than I was, and helped me move towards the proper form I should be using. I'm nowhere close. But I can only improve between now and July 10th.

My conclusion? Swimming sucks. I doubt any races are won by perfect swimming. I have to work up to 600m. That is down and back (a lap) twelve times. I can do it. Or die trying.

Graduation 2010

The kids "graduated" today. Somehow, they had back to back ceremonies. Helped diminish the burden on my schedule.

Meg went first. She made it to the rank of top three readers in her class. Was awarded the "Most Creative Writer" award. And was awarded "Super Reader - 10." At the end of second grade, she's reading on a sixth grade level. Very very proud of our baby girl and gave her some spending money for all her efforts.

4th grade went next. And by some trick of the light, Liam went first for his class. He received top reader in his class. And #3 reader in the whole fourth grade. Then he gets the "Bill Nye Science Award," and makes the honor roll. Proud of that kid. At the end of fourth grade, he's reading at an ELEVENTH grade reading level. He absolutely 0wnz. Gave him some spending money, too.

Cindy and I are truly blessed. Both of my kids are MUCH smarter than I was at their ages. Both have huge potential and make us proud on a daily basis. They're bright, glaring lights that steer me through my storms. With them in it, my life is complete.

Not The Same

My, my, my, that whole thing sucked. But, I did it.

Running, actual jogging in my case, is not the same as spending time on an elliptical machine. I can grind out a 5K on the elliptical without too much grief. But today, I ran. No machine. Did two miles in twenty four minutes. Had to fight for every stride after the first mile. But I did it. And I have 10 weeks to train for one more mile.

Also noticed that I'm back up to 199lbs. From 195lbs a couple of weeks ago. Have to blame my lack of attention to my diet and a LOT of Mexican food as of late. High calorie. High fat stuff. Just scarfed it all down with no regard to consequences.

I'm heading back to Daily Burn to track everything. Cut back on the Mexican food. Shift my training into high gear for the triathlon. Extend my running. Add swimming. Add biking. I can hit 185. It'll happen.

When It Rains

All weekend. And today. Rain. Down here in South Hell, when it rains, it pours. As if the sky is broken.

Shakespearian stuff. The gloom of oil creeping across our horizon. This whole ungodly Race To The Courthouse as people and lawyers line up to collect from BP. The oil giant pointing their fingers at the owners of the rig. The rig owners pointing their fingers at Haliburton, who poured the concrete. And Haliburton claiming they did what they were paid to do, using the regulated specs, which was all approved by some slackjawed inspectors. All of them stumbling over each other to dodge the blame and proclaim their innocence in this disaster.

In the background, Greece is in a shambles. The European Union & International Monetary Fund are printing up a $1T check that is backed by empty promises and buckets of spit. America still fights two wars. State governments are making cutbacks and layoffs faster than the paint on their ever-shrinking budgets can dry. While banks (which we bailed out) and oil companies are making record profits. (BP alone cleared $5.6B in profit just last quarter.)

When it rains, it pours. And we can't build arks quick enough or big enough.